Martin Chuzzlewit
man, the advocacy of which, beyond the foul atmosphere of a criminal
trial, would disgrace your own old Bailey lawyers; why, then I answer
plainly, No.’
‘Oh!’ said Martin; in so exactly the same key as his friend’s No, that
it sounded like an echo.
‘If you ask me,’ his companion pursued, ‘whether I came back here better
satisfied with a state of things which broadly divides society into two
classes--whereof one, the great mass, asserts a spurious independence,
most miserably dependent for its mean existence on the disregard of
humanizing conventionalities of manner and social custom, so that the
coarser a man is, the more distinctly it shall appeal to his taste;
while the other, disgusted with the low standard thus set up and made
adaptable to everything, takes refuge among the graces and refinements
it can bring to bear on private life, and leaves the public weal to
such fortune as may betide it in the press and uproar of a general
scramble--then again I answer, No.’
And again Martin said ‘Oh!’ in the same odd way as before, being anxious
and disconcerted; not so much, to say the truth, on public grounds, as
with reference to the fading prospects of domestic architecture.
‘In a word,’ resumed the other, ‘I do not find and cannot believe and
therefore will not allow, that we are a model of wisdom, and an example
to the world, and the perfection of human reason, and a great deal more
to the same purpose, which you may hear any hour in the day; simply
because we began our political life with two inestimable advantages.’
‘What were they?’ asked Martin.
‘One, that our history commenced at so late a period as to escape the
ages of bloodshed and cruelty through which other nations have passed;
and so had all the light of their probation, and none of its darkness.
The other, that we have a vast territory, and not--as yet--too many
people on it. These facts considered, we have done little enough, I
think.’
‘Education?’ suggested Martin, faintly.
‘Pretty well on that head,’ said the other, shrugging his shoulders,
‘still no mighty matter to boast of; for old countries, and despotic
countries too, have done as much, if not more, and made less noise about
it. We shine out brightly in comparison with England, certainly; but
hers is a very extreme case. You complimented me on my frankness, you
know,’ he added, laughing.
‘Oh! I am not at all astonished at your speaking thus openly when my
country is in question,’ returned Martin. ‘It is your plain-speaking in
reference to your own that surprises me.’
‘You will not find it a scarce quality here, I assure you, saving among
the Colonel Divers, and Jefferson Bricks, and Major Pawkinses; though
the best of us are something like the man in Goldsmith’s comedy, who
wouldn’t suffer anybody but himself to abuse his master. Come!’ he
added. ‘Let us talk of something else. You have come here on some design
of improving your fortune, I dare say; and I should grieve to put you
out of heart. I am some years older than you, besides; and may, on a few
trivial points, advise you, perhaps.’
There was not the least curiosity or impertinence in the manner of this
offer, which was open-hearted, unaffected, and good-natured. As it was
next to impossible that he should not have his confidence awakened by
a deportment so prepossessing and kind, Martin plainly stated what had
brought him into those parts, and even made the very difficult avowal
that he was poor. He did not say how poor, it must be admitted, rather
throwing off the declaration with an air which might have implied that
he had money enough for six months, instead of as many weeks; but poor
he said he was, and grateful he said he would be, for any counsel that
his friend would give him.
It would not have been very difficult for any one to see; but it was
particularly easy for Martin, whose perceptions were sharpened by his
circumstances, to discern; that the stranger’s face grew infinitely
longer as the domestic-architecture project was developed. Nor, although
he made a great effort to be as encouraging as possible, could he
prevent his head from shaking once involuntarily, as if it said in the
vulgar tongue, upon its own account, ‘No go!’ But he spoke in a cheerful
tone, and said, that although there was no such opening as Martin
wished, in that city, he would make it matter of immediate consideration
and inquiry where one was most likely to exist; and then he made Martin
acquainted with his name, which was Bevan; and with his profession,
which was physic, though he seldom or never practiced; and with other
circumstances connected with himself and family, which fully occupied
the time, until they reached the Rowdy Journal Office.
Mr Tapley appeared to be taking his ease on the landing of the first
floor; for sounds as of some gentleman established in that region
whistling ‘Rule Britannia’ with all his might and main, greeted their
ears before they reached the house. On ascending to the spot from
whence this music proceeded, they found him recumbent in the midst of a
fortification of luggage, apparently performing his national anthem
for the gratification of a grey-haired black man, who sat on one of the
outworks (a portmanteau), staring intently at Mark, while Mark, with
his head reclining on his hand, returned the compliment in a thoughtful
manner, and whistled all the time. He seemed to have recently dined, for
his knife, a casebottle, and certain broken meats in a handkerchief, lay
near at hand. He had employed a portion of his leisure in the decoration
of the Rowdy Journal door, whereon his own initials now appeared in
letters nearly half a foot long, together with the day of the month in
smaller type; the whole surrounded by an ornamental border, and looking
very fresh and bold.
‘I was a’most afraid you was lost, sir!’ cried Mark, rising, and
stopping the tune at that point where Britons generally are supposed to
declare (when it is whistled) that they never, never, never--
‘Nothing gone wrong, I hope, sir?’
‘No, Mark. Where’s your friend?’
‘The mad woman, sir?’ said Mr Tapley. ‘Oh! she’s all right, sir.’
‘Did she find her husband?’
‘Yes, sir. Leastways she’s found his remains,’ said Mark, correcting
himself.
‘The man’s not dead, I hope?’
‘Not altogether dead, sir,’ returned Mark; ‘but he’s had more fevers and
agues than is quite reconcilable with being alive. When she didn’t see
him a-waiting for her, I thought she’d have died herself, I did!’
‘Was he not here, then?’
‘HE wasn’t here. There was a feeble old shadow come a-creeping down at
last, as much like his substance when she know’d him, as your shadow
when it’s drawn out to its very finest and longest by the sun, is like
you. But it was his remains, there’s no doubt about that. She took on
with joy, poor thing, as much as if it had been all of him!’
‘Had he bought land?’ asked Mr Bevan.
‘Ah! He’d bought land,’ said Mark, shaking his head, ‘and paid for it
too. Every sort of nateral advantage was connected with it, the agents
said; and there certainly was ONE, quite unlimited. No end to the
water!’
‘It’s a thing he couldn’t have done without, I suppose,’ observed
Martin, peevishly.
‘Certainly not, sir. There it was, any way; always turned on, and no
water-rate. Independent of three or four slimy old rivers close by,
it varied on the farm from four to six foot deep in the dry season.
He couldn’t say how deep it was in the rainy time, for he never had
anything long enough to sound it with.’
‘Is this true?’ asked Martin of his companion.
‘Extremely probable,’ he answered. ‘Some Mississippi or Missouri lot, I
dare say.’
‘However,’ pursued Mark, ‘he came from I-don’t-know-where-and-all, down
to New York here, to meet his wife and children; and they started off
again in a steamboat this blessed afternoon, as happy to be along with
each other as if they were going to Heaven. I should think they was,
pretty straight, if I may judge from the poor man’s looks.’
‘And may I ask,’ said Martin, glancing, but not with any displeasure,
from Mark to the negro, ‘who this gentleman is? Another friend of
yours?’
‘Why sir,’ returned Mark, taking him aside, and speaking confidentially
in his ear, ‘he’s a man of colour, sir!’
‘Do you take me for a blind man,’ asked Martin, somewhat impatiently,
‘that you think it necessary to tell me that, when his face is the
blackest that ever was seen?’
‘No, no; when I say a man of colour,’ returned Mark, ‘I mean that
he’s been one of them as there’s picters of in the shops. A man and a
brother, you know, sir,’ said Mr Tapley, favouring his master with a
significant indication of the figure so often represented in tracts and
cheap prints.
‘A slave!’ cried Martin, in a whisper.
‘Ah!’ said Mark in the same tone. ‘Nothing else. A slave. Why, when that
there man was young--don’t look at him while I’m a-telling it--he was
shot in the leg; gashed in the arm; scored in his live limbs, like
crimped fish; beaten out of shape; had his neck galled with an iron
collar, and wore iron rings upon his wrists and ankles. The marks are on
him to this day. When I was having my dinner just now, he stripped off
his coat, and took away my appetite.’
‘Is THIS true?’ asked Martin of his friend, who stood beside them.
‘I have no reason to doubt it,’ he answered, shaking his head ‘It very
often is.’
‘Bless you,’ said Mark, ‘I know it is, from hearing his whole story.
That master died; so did his second master from having his head cut
open with a hatchet by another slave, who, when he’d done it, went and
drowned himself; then he got a better one; in years and years he saved
up a little money, and bought his freedom, which he got pretty cheap at
last, on account of his strength being nearly gone, and he being ill.
Then he come here. And now he’s a-saving up to treat himself, afore
he dies, to one small purchase--it’s nothing to speak of. Only his own
daughter; that’s all!’ cried Mr Tapley, becoming excited. ‘Liberty for
ever! Hurrah! Hail, Columbia!’
‘Hush!’ cried Martin, clapping his hand upon his mouth; ‘and don’t be an
idiot. What is he doing here?’
‘Waiting to take our luggage off upon a truck,’ said Mark. ‘He’d have
come for it by-and-bye, but I engaged him for a very reasonable charge
(out of my own pocket) to sit along with me and make me jolly; and I
am jolly; and if I was rich enough to contract with him to wait upon me
once a day, to be looked at, I’d never be anything else.’
The fact may cause a solemn impeachment of Mark’s veracity, but it must
be admitted nevertheless, that there was that in his face and manner at
the moment, which militated strongly against this emphatic declaration
of his state of mind.
‘Lord love you, sir,’ he added, ‘they’re so fond of Liberty in this part
of the globe, that they buy her and sell her and carry her to market
with ‘em. They’ve such a passion for Liberty, that they can’t help
taking liberties with her. That’s what it’s owing to.’
‘Very well,’ said Martin, wishing to change the theme. ‘Having come to
that conclusion, Mark, perhaps you’ll attend to me. The place to which
the luggage is to go is printed on this card. Mrs Pawkins’s Boarding
House.’
‘Mrs Pawkins’s boarding-house,’ repeated Mark. ‘Now, Cicero.’
‘Is that his name?’ asked Martin
‘That’s his name, sir,’ rejoined Mark. And the negro grinning assent
from under a leathern portmanteau, than which his own face was many
shades deeper, hobbled downstairs with his portion of their worldly
goods; Mark Tapley having already gone before with his share.
Martin and his friend followed them to the door below, and were about
to pursue their walk, when the latter stopped, and asked, with some
hesitation, whether that young man was to be trusted?