Martin Chuzzlewit
I’d a right to expect. If I had stumbled on a serpent and got bit; or
stumbled on a first-rate patriot, and got bowie-knifed, or stumbled on a
lot of Sympathisers with inverted shirt-collars, and got made a lion of;
I might have distinguished myself, and earned some credit. As it is,
the great object of my voyage is knocked on the head. So it would be,
wherever I went. How do you feel to-night, sir?’
‘Worse than ever,’ said poor Martin.
‘That’s something,’ returned Mark, ‘but not enough. Nothing but being
very bad myself, and jolly to the last, will ever do me justice.’
‘In Heaven’s name, don’t talk of that,’ said Martin with a thrill of
terror. ‘What should I do, Mark, if you were taken ill!’
Mr Tapley’s spirits appeared to be stimulated by this remark, although
it was not a very flattering one. He proceeded with his washing in a
brighter mood; and observed ‘that his glass was arising.’
‘There’s one good thing in this place, sir,’ said Mr Tapley, scrubbing
away at the linen, ‘as disposes me to be jolly; and that is that it’s
a reg’lar little United States in itself. There’s two or three American
settlers left; and they coolly comes over one, even here, sir, as if it
was the wholesomest and loveliest spot in the world. But they’re like
the cock that went and hid himself to save his life, and was found out
by the noise he made. They can’t help crowing. They was born to do it,
and do it they must, whatever comes of it.’
Glancing from his work out at the door as he said these words, Mark’s
eyes encountered a lean person in a blue frock and a straw hat, with
a short black pipe in his mouth, and a great hickory stick studded all
over with knots, in his hand; who smoking and chewing as he came along,
and spitting frequently, recorded his progress by a train of decomposed
tobacco on the ground.
‘Here’s one on ‘em,’ cried Mark, ‘Hannibal Chollop.’
‘Don’t let him in,’ said Martin, feebly.
‘He won’t want any letting in,’ replied Mark. ‘He’ll come in, sir.’
Which turned out to be quite true, for he did. His face was almost as
hard and knobby as his stick; and so were his hands. His head was like
an old black hearth-broom. He sat down on the chest with his hat on;
and crossing his legs and looking up at Mark, said, without removing his
pipe:
‘Well, Mr Co.! and how do you git along, sir?’
It may be necessary to observe that Mr Tapley had gravely introduced
himself to all strangers, by that name.
‘Pretty well, sir; pretty well,’ said Mark.
‘If this ain’t Mr Chuzzlewit, ain’t it!’ exclaimed the visitor ‘How do
YOU git along, sir?’
Martin shook his head, and drew the blanket over it involuntarily; for
he felt that Hannibal was going to spit; and his eye, as the song says,
was upon him.
‘You need not regard me, sir,’ observed Mr Chollop, complacently. ‘I am
fever-proof, and likewise agur.’
‘Mine was a more selfish motive,’ said Martin, looking out again. ‘I was
afraid you were going to--’
‘I can calc’late my distance, sir,’ returned Mr Chollop, ‘to an inch.’
With a proof of which happy faculty he immediately favoured him.
‘I re-quire, sir,’ said Hannibal, ‘two foot clear in a circ’lar
di-rection, and can engage my-self toe keep within it. I HAVE gone ten
foot, in a circ’lar di-rection, but that was for a wager.’
‘I hope you won it, sir,’ said Mark.
‘Well, sir, I realised the stakes,’ said Chollop. ‘Yes, sir.’
He was silent for a time, during which he was actively engaged in the
formation of a magic circle round the chest on which he sat. When it was
completed, he began to talk again.
‘How do you like our country, sir?’ he inquired, looking at Martin.
‘Not at all,’ was the invalid’s reply.
Chollop continued to smoke without the least appearance of emotion,
until he felt disposed to speak again. That time at length arriving, he
took his pipe from his mouth, and said:
‘I am not surprised to hear you say so. It re-quires An elevation, and
A preparation of the intellect. The mind of man must be prepared for
Freedom, Mr Co.’
He addressed himself to Mark; because he saw that Martin, who wished
him to go, being already half-mad with feverish irritation, which the
droning voice of this new horror rendered almost insupportable, had
closed his eyes, and turned on his uneasy bed.
‘A little bodily preparation wouldn’t be amiss, either, would it, sir,’
said Mark, ‘in the case of a blessed old swamp like this?’
‘Do you con-sider this a swamp, sir?’ inquired Chollop gravely.
‘Why yes, sir,’ returned Mark. ‘I haven’t a doubt about it myself.’
‘The sentiment is quite Europian,’ said the major, ‘and does not
surprise me; what would your English millions say to such a swamp in
England, sir?’
‘They’d say it was an uncommon nasty one, I should think, said Mark;
‘and that they would rather be inoculated for fever in some other way.’
‘Europian!’ remarked Chollop, with sardonic pity. ‘Quite Europian!’
And there he sat. Silent and cool, as if the house were his; smoking
away like a factory chimney.
Mr Chollop was, of course, one of the most remarkable men in the
country; but he really was a notorious person besides. He was usually
described by his friends, in the South and West, as ‘a splendid sample
of our na-tive raw material, sir,’ and was much esteemed for his
devotion to rational Liberty; for the better propagation whereof he
usually carried a brace of revolving pistols in his coat pocket, with
seven barrels a-piece. He also carried, amongst other trinkets, a
sword-stick, which he called his ‘Tickler.’ and a great knife, which
(for he was a man of a pleasant turn of humour) he called ‘Ripper,’ in
allusion to its usefulness as a means of ventilating the stomach of
any adversary in a close contest. He had used these weapons with
distinguished effect in several instances, all duly chronicled in the
newspapers; and was greatly beloved for the gallant manner in which
he had ‘jobbed out’ the eye of one gentleman, as he was in the act of
knocking at his own street-door.
Mr Chollop was a man of a roving disposition; and, in any less advanced
community, might have been mistaken for a violent vagabond. But his fine
qualities being perfectly understood and appreciated in those regions
where his lot was cast, and where he had many kindred spirits to consort
with, he may be regarded as having been born under a fortunate star,
which is not always the case with a man so much before the age in which
he lives. Preferring, with a view to the gratification of his tickling
and ripping fancies, to dwell upon the outskirts of society, and in the
more remote towns and cities, he was in the habit of emigrating from
place to place, and establishing in each some business--usually a
newspaper--which he presently sold; for the most part closing the
bargain by challenging, stabbing, pistolling, or gouging the new editor,
before he had quite taken possession of the property.
He had come to Eden on a speculation of this kind, but had abandoned it,
and was about to leave. He always introduced himself to strangers as
a worshipper of Freedom; was the consistent advocate of Lynch law,
and slavery; and invariably recommended, both in print and speech,
the ‘tarring and feathering’ of any unpopular person who differed from
himself. He called this ‘planting the standard of civilization in the
wilder gardens of My country.’
There is little doubt that Chollop would have planted this standard in
Eden at Mark’s expense, in return for his plainness of speech (for the
genuine Freedom is dumb, save when she vaunts herself), but for the
utter desolation and decay prevailing in the settlement, and his own
approaching departure from it. As it was, he contented himself with
showing Mark one of the revolving-pistols, and asking him what he
thought of that weapon.
‘It ain’t long since I shot a man down with that, sir, in the State of
IllinOY,’ observed Chollop.
‘Did you, indeed!’ said Mark, without the smallest agitation. ‘Very free
of you. And very independent!’
‘I shot him down, sir,’ pursued Chollop, ‘for asserting in the Spartan
Portico, a tri-weekly journal, that the ancient Athenians went a-head of
the present Locofoco Ticket.’
‘And what’s that?’ asked Mark.
‘Europian not to know,’ said Chollop, smoking placidly. ‘Europian
quite!’
After a short devotion to the interests of the magic circle, he resumed
the conversation by observing:
‘You won’t half feel yourself at home in Eden, now?’
‘No,’ said Mark, ‘I don’t.’
‘You miss the imposts of your country. You miss the house dues?’
observed Chollop.
‘And the houses--rather,’ said Mark.
‘No window dues here, sir,’ observed Chollop.
‘And no windows to put ‘em on,’ said Mark.
‘No stakes, no dungeons, no blocks, no racks, no scaffolds, no
thumbscrews, no pikes, no pillories,’ said Chollop.
‘Nothing but rewolwers and bowie-knives,’ returned Mark. ‘And what are
they? Not worth mentioning!’
The man who had met them on the night of their arrival came crawling up
at this juncture, and looked in at the door.
‘Well, sir,’ said Chollop. ‘How do YOU git along?’
He had considerable difficulty in getting along at all, and said as much
in reply.
‘Mr Co. And me, sir,’ observed Chollop, ‘are disputating a piece. He
ought to be slicked up pretty smart to disputate between the Old World
and the New, I do expect?’
‘Well!’ returned the miserable shadow. ‘So he had.’
‘I was merely observing, sir,’ said Mark, addressing this new visitor,
‘that I looked upon the city in which we have the honour to live, as
being swampy. What’s your sentiments?’
‘I opinionate it’s moist perhaps, at certain times,’ returned the man.
‘But not as moist as England, sir?’ cried Chollop, with a fierce
expression in his face.
‘Oh! Not as moist as England; let alone its Institutions,’ said the man.
‘I should hope there ain’t a swamp in all Americay, as don’t whip THAT
small island into mush and molasses,’ observed Chollop, decisively. ‘You
bought slick, straight, and right away, of Scadder, sir?’ to Mark.
He answered in the affirmative. Mr Chollop winked at the other citizen.
‘Scadder is a smart man, sir? He is a rising man? He is a man as will
come up’ards, right side up, sir?’ Mr Chollop winked again at the other
citizen.
‘He should have his right side very high up, if I had my way,’ said
Mark. ‘As high up as the top of a good tall gallows, perhaps.’
Mr Chollop was so delighted at the smartness of his excellent countryman
having been too much for the Britisher, and at the Britisher’s resenting
it, that he could contain himself no longer, and broke forth in a shout
of delight. But the strangest exposition of this ruling passion was
in the other--the pestilence-stricken, broken, miserable shadow of a
man--who derived so much entertainment from the circumstance that he
seemed to forget his own ruin in thinking of it, and laughed outright
when he said ‘that Scadder was a smart man, and had draw’d a lot of
British capital that way, as sure as sun-up.’
After a full enjoyment of this joke, Mr Hannibal Chollop sat smoking and
improving the circle, without making any attempts either to converse or
to take leave; apparently labouring under the not uncommon delusion
that for a free and enlightened citizen of the United States to convert
another man’s house into a spittoon for two or three hours together, was
a delicate attention, full of interest and politeness, of which nobody
could ever tire. At last he rose.
‘I am a-going easy,’ he observed.
Mark entreated him to take particular care of himself.
‘Afore I go,’ he said sternly, ‘I have got a leetle word to say to you.
You are darnation ‘cute, you are.’
Mark thanked him for the compliment.
‘But you are much too ‘cute to last. I can’t con-ceive of any spotted