The Pickwick Papers
so,” says the gen’l’m’n. So then they pours him out a glass of wine, and
gammons him about his driving, and gets him into a reg’lar good humour,
and at last shoves a twenty-pound note into his hand. “It’s a wery bad
road between this and London,” says the gen’l’m’n.--“Here and there it
is a heavy road,” says my father.--” ‘Specially near the canal, I
think,” says the gen’l’m’n.--“Nasty bit that ‘ere,” says my father.--
“Well, Mr. Weller,” says the gen’l’m’n, “you’re a wery good whip, and
can do what you like with your horses, we know. We’re all wery fond o’
you, Mr. Weller, so in case you should have an accident when you’re
bringing these here woters down, and should tip ‘em over into the canal
vithout hurtin’ of ‘em, this is for yourself,” says he.--“Gen’l’m’n,
you’re wery kind,” says my father, “and I’ll drink your health in
another glass of wine,” says he; vich he did, and then buttons up the
money, and bows himself out. You wouldn’t believe, sir,’ continued Sam,
with a look of inexpressible impudence at his master, ‘that on the wery
day as he came down with them woters, his coach _was _upset on that ‘ere
wery spot, and ev’ry man on ‘em was turned into the canal.’
‘And got out again?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick hastily.
‘Why,’ replied Sam very slowly, ‘I rather think one old gen’l’m’n was
missin’; I know his hat was found, but I ain’t quite certain whether his
head was in it or not. But what I look at is the hex-traordinary and
wonderful coincidence, that arter what that gen’l’m’n said, my father’s
coach should be upset in that wery place, and on that wery day!’
‘It is, no doubt, a very extraordinary circumstance indeed,’ said Mr.
Pickwick. ‘But brush my hat, Sam, for I hear Mr. Winkle calling me to
breakfast.’
With these words Mr. Pickwick descended to the parlour, where he found
breakfast laid, and the family already assembled. The meal was hastily
despatched; each of the gentlemen’s hats was decorated with an enormous
blue favour, made up by the fair hands of Mrs. Pott herself; and as Mr.
Winkle had undertaken to escort that lady to a house-top, in the
immediate vicinity of the hustings, Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Pott repaired
alone to the Town Arms, from the back window of which, one of Mr.
Slumkey’s committee was addressing six small boys and one girl, whom he
dignified, at every second sentence, with the imposing title of ‘Men of
Eatanswill,’ whereat the six small boys aforesaid cheered prodigiously.
The stable-yard exhibited unequivocal symptoms of the glory and strength
of the Eatanswill Blues. There was a regular army of blue flags, some
with one handle, and some with two, exhibiting appropriate devices, in
golden characters four feet high, and stout in proportion. There was a
grand band of trumpets, bassoons, and drums, marshalled four abreast,
and earning their money, if ever men did, especially the drum-beaters,
who were very muscular. There were bodies of constables with blue
staves, twenty committee-men with blue scarfs, and a mob of voters with
blue cockades. There were electors on horseback and electors afoot.
There was an open carriage-and-four, for the Honourable Samuel Slumkey;
and there were four carriage-and-pair, for his friends and supporters;
and the flags were rustling, and the band was playing, and the
constables were swearing, and the twenty committee-men were squabbling,
and the mob were shouting, and the horses were backing, and the post-
boys perspiring; and everybody, and everything, then and there
assembled, was for the special use, behoof, honour, and renown, of the
Honourable Samuel Slumkey, of Slumkey Hall, one of the candidates for
the representation of the borough of Eatanswill, in the Commons House of
Parliament of the United Kingdom.
Loud and long were the cheers, and mighty was the rustling of one of the
blue flags, with ‘Liberty of the Press’ inscribed thereon, when the
sandy head of Mr. Pott was discerned in one of the windows, by the mob
beneath; and tremendous was the enthusiasm when the Honourable Samuel
Slumkey himself, in top-boots, and a blue neckerchief, advanced and
seized the hand of the said Pott, and melodramatically testified by
gestures to the crowd, his ineffaceable obligations to the Eatanswill
_Gazette_.
‘Is everything ready?’ said the Honourable Samuel Slumkey to Mr. Perker.
‘Everything, my dear Sir,’ was the little man’s reply.
‘Nothing has been omitted, I hope?’ said the Honourable Samuel Slumkey.
‘Nothing has been left undone, my dear sir--nothing whatever. There are
twenty washed men at the street door for you to shake hands with; and
six children in arms that you’re to pat on the head, and inquire the age
of; be particular about the children, my dear sir--it has always a great
effect, that sort of thing.’
‘I’ll take care,’ said the Honourable Samuel Slumkey.
‘And, perhaps, my dear Sir,’ said the cautious little man, ‘perhaps if
you could--I don’t mean to say it’s indispensable--but if you could
manage to kiss one of ‘em, it would produce a very great impression on
the crowd.’
‘Wouldn’t it have as good an effect if the proposer or seconder did
that?’ said the Honourable Samuel Slumkey.
‘Why, I am afraid it wouldn’t,’ replied the agent; ‘if it were done by
yourself, my dear Sir, I think it would make you very popular.’
‘Very well,’ said the Honourable Samuel Slumkey, with a resigned air,
‘then it must be done. That’s all.’
‘Arrange the procession,’ cried the twenty committee-men.
Amidst the cheers of the assembled throng, the band, and the constables,
and the committee-men, and the voters, and the horsemen, and the
carriages, took their places--each of the two-horse vehicles being
closely packed with as many gentlemen as could manage to stand upright
in it; and that assigned to Mr. Perker, containing Mr. Pickwick, Mr.
Tupman, Mr. Snodgrass, and about half a dozen of the committee besides.
There was a moment of awful suspense as the procession waited for the
Honourable Samuel Slumkey to step into his carriage. Suddenly the crowd
set up a great cheering.
‘He has come out,’ said little Mr. Perker, greatly excited; the more so
as their position did not enable them to see what was going forward.
Another cheer, much louder.
‘He has shaken hands with the men,’ cried the little agent.
Another cheer, far more vehement.
‘He has patted the babies on the head,’ said Mr. Perker, trembling with
anxiety.
A roar of applause that rent the air.
‘He has kissed one of ‘em!’ exclaimed the delighted little man.
A second roar.
‘He has kissed another,’ gasped the excited manager.
A third roar.
‘He’s kissing ‘em all!’ screamed the enthusiastic little gentleman, and
hailed by the deafening shouts of the multitude, the procession moved
on.
How or by what means it became mixed up with the other procession, and
how it was ever extricated from the confusion consequent thereupon, is
more than we can undertake to describe, inasmuch as Mr. Pickwick’s hat
was knocked over his eyes, nose, and mouth, by one poke of a Buff flag-
staff, very early in the proceedings. He describes himself as being
surrounded on every side, when he could catch a glimpse of the scene, by
angry and ferocious countenances, by a vast cloud of dust, and by a
dense crowd of combatants. He represents himself as being forced from
the carriage by some unseen power, and being personally engaged in a
pugilistic encounter; but with whom, or how, or why, he is wholly unable
to state. He then felt himself forced up some wooden steps by the
persons from behind; and on removing his hat, found himself surrounded
by his friends, in the very front of the left hand side of the hustings.
The right was reserved for the Buff party, and the centre for the mayor
and his officers; one of whom--the fat crier of Eatanswill--was ringing
an enormous bell, by way of commanding silence, while Mr. Horatio
Fizkin, and the Honourable Samuel Slumkey, with their hands upon their
hearts, were bowing with the utmost affability to the troubled sea of
heads that inundated the open space in front; and from whence arose a
storm of groans, and shouts, and yells, and hootings, that would have
done honour to an earthquake.
‘There’s Winkle,’ said Mr. Tupman, pulling his friend by the sleeve.
‘Where!’ said Mr. Pickwick, putting on his spectacles, which he had
fortunately kept in his pocket hitherto.
‘There,’ said Mr. Tupman, ‘on the top of that house.’ And there, sure
enough, in the leaden gutter of a tiled roof, were Mr. Winkle and Mrs.
Pott, comfortably seated in a couple of chairs, waving their
handkerchiefs in token of recognition--a compliment which Mr. Pickwick
returned by kissing his hand to the lady.
The proceedings had not yet commenced; and as an inactive crowd is
generally disposed to be jocose, this very innocent action was
sufficient to awaken their facetiousness.
‘Oh, you wicked old rascal,’ cried one voice, ‘looking arter the girls,
are you?’
‘Oh, you wenerable sinner,’ cried another.
‘Putting on his spectacles to look at a married ‘ooman!’ said a third.
‘I see him a-winkin’ at her, with his wicked old eye,’ shouted a fourth.
‘Look arter your wife, Pott,’ bellowed a fifth--and then there was a
roar of laughter.
As these taunts were accompanied with invidious comparisons between Mr.
Pickwick and an aged ram, and several witticisms of the like nature; and
as they moreover rather tended to convey reflections upon the honour of
an innocent lady, Mr. Pickwick’s indignation was excessive; but as
silence was proclaimed at the moment, he contented himself by scorching
the mob with a look of pity for their misguided minds, at which they
laughed more boisterously than ever.
‘Silence!’ roared the mayor’s attendants.
‘Whiffin, proclaim silence,’ said the mayor, with an air of pomp
befitting his lofty station. In obedience to this command the crier
performed another concerto on the bell, whereupon a gentleman in the
crowd called out ‘Muffins’; which occasioned another laugh.
‘Gentlemen,’ said the mayor, at as loud a pitch as he could possibly
force his voice to--‘gentlemen. Brother electors of the borough of
Eatanswill. We are met here to-day for the purpose of choosing a
representative in the room of our late--’
Here the mayor was interrupted by a voice in the crowd.
‘Suc-cess to the mayor!’ cried the voice, ‘and may he never desert the
nail and sarspan business, as he got his money by.’
This allusion to the professional pursuits of the orator was received
with a storm of delight, which, with a bell-accompaniment, rendered the
remainder of his speech inaudible, with the exception of the concluding
sentence, in which he thanked the meeting for the patient attention with
which they heard him throughout--an expression of gratitude which
elicited another burst of mirth, of about a quarter of an hour’s
duration.
Next, a tall, thin gentleman, in a very stiff white neckerchief, after
being repeatedly desired by the crowd to ‘send a boy home, to ask
whether he hadn’t left his voice under the pillow,’ begged to nominate a
fit and proper person to represent them in Parliament. And when he said
it was Horatio Fizkin, Esquire, of Fizkin Lodge, near Eatanswill, the
Fizkinites applauded, and the Slumkeyites groaned, so long, and so
loudly, that both he and the seconder might have sung comic songs in
lieu of speaking, without anybody’s being a bit the wiser.
The friends of Horatio Fizkin, Esquire, having had their innings, a
little choleric, pink-faced man stood forward to propose another fit and
proper person to represent the electors of Eatanswill in Parliament; and
very swimmingly the pink-faced gentleman would have got on, if he had
not been rather too choleric to entertain a sufficient perception of the