The Pickwick Papers
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
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.