The Pickwick Papers
with great hardihood, ‘Certainly. I should enjoy it of all things.’
Mr. Winkle had rushed upon his fate; there was no resource.
‘Let them be at the door by eleven,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Very well, sir,’ replied the waiter.
The waiter retired; the breakfast concluded; and the travellers ascended
to their respective bedrooms, to prepare a change of clothing, to take
with them on their approaching expedition.
Mr. Pickwick had made his preliminary arrangements, and was looking over
the coffee-room blinds at the passengers in the street, when the waiter
entered, and announced that the chaise was ready--an announcement which
the vehicle itself confirmed, by forthwith appearing before the coffee-
room blinds aforesaid.
It was a curious little green box on four wheels, with a low place like
a wine-bin for two behind, and an elevated perch for one in front, drawn
by an immense brown horse, displaying great symmetry of bone. An hostler
stood near, holding by the bridle another immense horse--apparently a
near relative of the animal in the chaise--ready saddled for Mr. Winkle.
‘Bless my soul!’ said Mr. Pickwick, as they stood upon the pavement
while the coats were being put in. ‘Bless my soul! who’s to drive? I
never thought of that.’
‘Oh! you, of course,’ said Mr. Tupman.
‘Of course,’ said Mr. Snodgrass.
‘I!’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.
‘Not the slightest fear, Sir,’ interposed the hostler. ‘Warrant him
quiet, Sir; a hinfant in arms might drive him.’
‘He don’t shy, does he?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
‘Shy, sir?-he wouldn’t shy if he was to meet a vagin-load of monkeys
with their tails burned off.’
The last recommendation was indisputable. Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass
got into the bin; Mr. Pickwick ascended to his perch, and deposited his
feet on a floor-clothed shelf, erected beneath it for that purpose.
‘Now, shiny Villiam,’ said the hostler to the deputy hostler, ‘give the
gen’lm’n the ribbons.’
Shiny Villiam’--so called, probably, from his sleek hair and oily
countenance--placed the reins in Mr. Pickwick’s left hand; and the upper
hostler thrust a whip into his right.
‘Wo-o!’ cried Mr. Pickwick, as the tall quadruped evinced a decided
inclination to back into the coffee-room window.
‘Wo-o!’ echoed Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass, from the bin.
‘Only his playfulness, gen’lm’n,’ said the head hostler encouragingly;
‘jist kitch hold on him, Villiam.’ The deputy restrained the animal’s
impetuosity, and the principal ran to assist Mr. Winkle in mounting.
‘T’other side, sir, if you please.’
‘Blowed if the gen’lm’n worn’t a-gettin’ up on the wrong side,’
whispered a grinning post-boy to the inexpressibly gratified waiter.
Mr. Winkle, thus instructed, climbed into his saddle, with about as much
difficulty as he would have experienced in getting up the side of a
first-rate man-of-war.
‘All right?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick, with an inward presentiment that it
was all wrong.
‘All right,’ replied Mr. Winkle faintly.
‘Let ‘em go,’ cried the hostler.--‘Hold him in, sir;’ and away went the
chaise, and the saddle-horse, with Mr. Pickwick on the box of the one,
and Mr. Winkle on the back of the other, to the delight and
gratification of the whole inn-yard.
‘What makes him go sideways?’ said Mr. Snodgrass in the bin, to Mr.
Winkle in the saddle.
‘I can’t imagine,’ replied Mr. Winkle. His horse was drifting up the
street in the most mysterious manner--side first, with his head towards
one side of the way, and his tail towards the other.
Mr. Pickwick had no leisure to observe either this or any other
particular, the whole of his faculties being concentrated in the
management of the animal attached to the chaise, who displayed various
peculiarities, highly interesting to a bystander, but by no means
equally amusing to any one seated behind him. Besides constantly jerking
his head up, in a very unpleasant and uncomfortable manner, and tugging
at the reins to an extent which rendered it a matter of great difficulty
for Mr. Pickwick to hold them, he had a singular propensity for darting
suddenly every now and then to the side of the road, then stopping
short, and then rushing forward for some minutes, at a speed which it
was wholly impossible to control.
‘What _can_ he mean by this?’ said Mr. Snodgrass, when the horse had
executed this manoeuvre for the twentieth time.
‘I don’t know,’ replied Mr. Tupman; ‘it looks very like shying, don’t
it?’ Mr. Snodgrass was about to reply, when he was interrupted by a
shout from Mr. Pickwick.
‘Woo!’ said that gentleman; ‘I have dropped my whip.’
‘Winkle,’ said Mr. Snodgrass, as the equestrian came trotting up on the
tall horse, with his hat over his ears, and shaking all over, as if he
would shake to pieces, with the violence of the exercise, ‘pick up the
whip, there’s a good fellow.’ Mr. Winkle pulled at the bridle of the
tall horse till he was black in the face; and having at length succeeded
in stopping him, dismounted, handed the whip to Mr. Pickwick, and
grasping the reins, prepared to remount.
Now whether the tall horse, in the natural playfulness of his
disposition, was desirous of having a little innocent recreation with
Mr. Winkle, or whether it occurred to him that he could perform the
journey as much to his own satisfaction without a rider as with one, are
points upon which, of course, we can arrive at no definite and distinct
conclusion. By whatever motives the animal was actuated, certain it is
that Mr. Winkle had no sooner touched the reins, than he slipped them
over his head, and darted backwards to their full length.
‘Poor fellow,’ said Mr. Winkle soothingly--‘poor fellow--good old
horse.’ The ‘poor fellow’ was proof against flattery; the more Mr.
Winkle tried to get nearer him, the more he sidled away; and,
notwithstanding all kinds of coaxing and wheedling, there were Mr.
Winkle and the horse going round and round each other for ten minutes,
at the end of which time each was at precisely the same distance from
the other as when they first commenced--an unsatisfactory sort of thing
under any circumstances, but particularly so in a lonely road, where no
assistance can be procured.
‘What am I to do?’ shouted Mr. Winkle, after the dodging had been
prolonged for a considerable time. ‘What am I to do? I can’t get on
him.’
‘You had better lead him till we come to a turnpike,’ replied Mr.
Pickwick from the chaise.
‘But he won’t come!’ roared Mr. Winkle. ‘Do come and hold him.’
Mr. Pickwick was the very personation of kindness and humanity: he threw
the reins on the horse’s back, and having descended from his seat,
carefully drew the chaise into the hedge, lest anything should come
along the road, and stepped back to the assistance of his distressed
companion, leaving Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass in the vehicle.
The horse no sooner beheld Mr. Pickwick advancing towards him with the
chaise whip in his hand, than he exchanged the rotary motion in which he
had previously indulged, for a retrograde movement of so very determined
a character, that it at once drew Mr. Winkle, who was still at the end
of the bridle, at a rather quicker rate than fast walking, in the
direction from which they had just come. Mr. Pickwick ran to his
assistance, but the faster Mr. Pickwick ran forward, the faster the
horse ran backward. There was a great scraping of feet, and kicking up
of the dust; and at last Mr. Winkle, his arms being nearly pulled out of
their sockets, fairly let go his hold. The horse paused, stared, shook
his head, turned round, and quietly trotted home to Rochester, leaving
Mr. Winkle and Mr. Pickwick gazing on each other with countenances of
blank dismay. A rattling noise at a little distance attracted their
attention. They looked up.
‘Bless my soul!’ exclaimed the agonised Mr. Pickwick; ‘there’s the other
horse running away!’
It was but too true. The animal was startled by the noise, and the reins
were on his back. The results may be guessed. He tore off with the four-
wheeled chaise behind him, and Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass in the four-
wheeled chaise. The heat was a short one. Mr. Tupman threw himself into
the hedge, Mr. Snodgrass followed his example, the horse dashed the
four--wheeled chaise against a wooden bridge, separated the wheels from
the body, and the bin from the perch; and finally stood stock still to
gaze upon the ruin he had made.
The first care of the two unspilt friends was to extricate their
unfortunate companions from their bed of quickset--a process which gave
them the unspeakable satisfaction of discovering that they had sustained
no injury, beyond sundry rents in their garments, and various
lacerations from the brambles. The next thing to be done was to
unharness the horse. This complicated process having been effected, the
party walked slowly forward, leading the horse among them, and
abandoning the chaise to its fate.
An hour’s walk brought the travellers to a little road-side public-
house, with two elm-trees, a horse trough, and a signpost, in front; one
or two deformed hay-ricks behind, a kitchen garden at the side, and
rotten sheds and mouldering outhouses jumbled in strange confusion all
about it. A red-headed man was working in the garden; and to him Mr.
Pickwick called lustily, ‘Hollo there!’
The red-headed man raised his body, shaded his eyes with his hand, and
stared, long and coolly, at Mr. Pickwick and his companions.
‘Hollo there!’ repeated Mr. Pickwick.
‘Hollo!’ was the red-headed man’s reply.
‘How far is it to Dingley Dell?’
‘Better er seven mile.’
‘Is it a good road?’
‘No, ‘tain’t.’ Having uttered this brief reply, and apparently satisfied
himself with another scrutiny, the red-headed man resumed his work. ‘We
want to put this horse up here,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘I suppose we can,
can’t we?’
Want to put that ere horse up, do ee?’ repeated the red-headed man,
leaning on his spade.
‘Of course,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, who had by this time advanced, horse
in hand, to the garden rails.
‘Missus’--roared the man with the red head, emerging from the garden,
and looking very hard at the horse--‘missus!’
A tall, bony woman--straight all the way down--in a coarse, blue
pelisse, with the waist an inch or two below her arm-pits, responded to
the call.
‘Can we put this horse up here, my good woman?’ said Mr. Tupman,
advancing, and speaking in his most seductive tones. The woman looked
very hard at the whole party; and the red-headed man whispered something
in her ear.
‘No,’ replied the woman, after a little consideration, ‘I’m afeerd on
it.’
‘Afraid!’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, ‘what’s the woman afraid of?’
‘It got us in trouble last time,’ said the woman, turning into the
house; ‘I woan’t have nothin’ to say to ‘un.’
‘Most extraordinary thing I have ever met with in my life,’ said the
astonished Mr. Pickwick.
‘I--I--really believe,’ whispered Mr. Winkle, as his friends gathered
round him, ‘that they think we have come by this horse in some dishonest
manner.’
‘What!’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, in a storm of indignation. Mr. Winkle
modestly repeated his suggestion.
‘Hollo, you fellow,’ said the angry Mr. Pickwick, ‘do you think we stole
the horse?’
‘I’m sure ye did,’ replied the red-headed man, with a grin which
agitated his countenance from one auricular organ to the other. Saying
which he turned into the house and banged the door after him.
‘It’s like a dream,’ ejaculated Mr. Pickwick, ‘a hideous dream. The idea
of a man’s walking about all day with a dreadful horse that he can’t get
rid of!’ The depressed Pickwickians turned moodily away, with the tall
quadruped, for which they all felt the most unmitigated disgust,
following slowly at their heels.
It was late in the afternoon when the four friends and their four-footed