The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club, v. 1 (of 2)

by Charles Dickens

  CHAPTER V

  _A Short One. Showing, among other Matters, how Mr. Pickwick undertook to Drive, and Mr. Winkle to Ride; and how they both did it_

  Bright and pleasant was the sky, balmy the air, and beautiful theappearance of every object around, as Mr. Pickwick leant over thebalustrades of Rochester Bridge, contemplating nature, and waiting forbreakfast. The scene was indeed one which might well have charmed a farless reflective mind, than that to which it was presented.

  On the left of the spectator lay the ruined wall, broken in manyplaces, and in some, overhanging the narrow beach below in rude andheavy masses. Huge knots of sea-weed hung upon the jagged and pointedstones, trembling in every breath of wind; and the green ivy clungmournfully round the dark and ruined battlements. Behind it rose theancient castle, its towers roofless, and its massive walls crumblingaway, but telling us proudly of its own might and strength, as when,seven hundred years ago, it rang with the clash of arms, or resoundedwith the noise of feasting and revelry. On either side, the banks ofthe Medway, covered with corn-fields and pastures, with here and therea windmill, or a distant church, stretched away as far as the eye couldsee, presenting a rich and varied landscape, rendered more beautiful bythe changing shadows which passed swiftly across it, as the thin andhalf-formed clouds skimmed away in the light of the morning sun. Theriver, reflecting the clear blue of the sky, glistened and sparkled asit flowed noiselessly on; and the oars of the fishermen dipped intothe water with a clear and liquid sound, as the heavy but picturesqueboats glided slowly down the stream.

  Mr. Pickwick was roused from the agreeable reverie into which he hadbeen led by the objects before him, by a deep sigh, and a touch on hisshoulder. He turned round: and the dismal man was at his side.

  "Contemplating the scene?" inquired the dismal man.

  "I was," said Mr. Pickwick.

  "And congratulating yourself on being up so soon?" Mr. Pickwick noddedassent.

  "Ah! people need to rise early, to see the sun in all his splendour,for his brightness seldom lasts the day through. The morning of day andthe morning of life are but too much alike."

  "You speak truly, sir," said Mr. Pickwick.

  "How common the saying," continued the dismal man, "'The morning's toofine to last.' How well might it be applied to our every-day existence.God! what would I forfeit to have the days of my childhood restored, orto be able to forget them for ever!"

  "You have seen much trouble, sir," said Mr. Pickwick, compassionately.

  "I have," said the dismal man, hurriedly; "I have. More than those whosee me now would believe possible." He paused for an instant, and thensaid abruptly--

  "Did it ever strike you, on such a morning as this, that drowning wouldbe happiness and peace?"

  "God bless me, no!" replied Mr. Pickwick, edging a little from thebalustrade, as the possibility of the dismal man's tipping him over, byway of experiment, occurred to him rather forcibly.

  "_I_ have thought so, often," said the dismal man, without noticingthe action. "The calm, cool water seems to me to murmur an invitationto repose and rest. A bound, a splash, a brief struggle; there is aneddy for an instant, it gradually subsides into a gentle ripple; thewaters have closed above your head, and the world has closed upon yourmiseries and misfortunes for ever." The sunken eye of the dismal manflashed brightly as he spoke, but the momentary excitement quicklysubsided: and he turned calmly away, as he said--

  "There--enough of that. I wish to see you on another subject. Youinvited me to read that paper, the night before last, and listenedattentively while I did so."

  "I did," replied Mr. Pickwick; "and I certainly thought----"

  "I asked for no opinion," said the dismal man, interrupting him, "andI want none. You are travelling for amusement and instruction. SupposeI forwarded you a curious manuscript--observe, not curious becausewild or improbable, but curious as a leaf from the romance of reallife. Would you communicate it to the club, of which you have spoken sofrequently?"

  "Certainly," replied Mr. Pickwick, "if you wished it; and it would beentered on their transactions."

  "You shall have it," replied the dismal man. "Your address;" and Mr.Pickwick, having communicated their probable route, the dismal mancarefully noted it down in a greasy pocket-book, and, resisting Mr.Pickwick's pressing invitation to breakfast, left that gentleman at hisinn, and walked slowly away.

  Mr. Pickwick found that his three companions had risen, and werewaiting his arrival to commence breakfast, which was ready laid intempting display. They sat down to the meal; and broiled ham, eggs,tea, coffee and sundries, began to disappear with a rapidity which atonce bore testimony to the excellence of the fare, and the appetites ofits consumers.

  "Now, about Manor Farm," said Mr. Pickwick. "How shall we go?"

  "We had better consult the waiter, perhaps," said Mr. Tupman, and thewaiter was summoned accordingly.

  "Dingley Dell, gentlemen--fifteen miles,gentlemen--cross-road--post-chaise, sir?"

  "Post-chaise won't hold more than two," said Mr. Pickwick.

  "True, sir--beg your pardon, sir--very nice four-wheeled chaise,sir--seat for two behind--one in front for the gentleman thatdrives--oh! beg your pardon, sir--that'll only hold three."

  "What's to be done?" said Mr. Snodgrass.

  "Perhaps one of the gentlemen would like to ride, sir?" suggested thewaiter, looking towards Mr. Winkle; "very good saddle horses, sir--anyof Mr. Wardle's men coming to Rochester bring 'em back, sir."

  "The very thing," said Mr. Pickwick. "Winkle, will you go on horseback?"

  Mr. Winkle did entertain considerable misgivings in the very lowestrecesses of his own heart, relative to his equestrian skill; but, as hewould not have them even suspected on any account, he at once repliedwith great hardihood, "Certainly. I should enjoy it of all things."

  Mr. Winkle had rushed upon his fate; there was no resource. "Let thembe at the door by eleven," said Mr. Pickwick.

  "Very well, sir," replied the waiter.

  The waiter retired; the breakfast concluded; and the travellersascended 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 lookingover the coffee-room blinds at the passengers in the street, when thewaiter entered and announced that the chaise was ready--an announcementwhich the vehicle itself confirmed, by forthwith appearing before thecoffee-room blinds aforesaid.

  It was a curious little green box on four wheels, with a low placelike a wine-bin for two behind, and an elevated perch for one infront, drawn by an immense brown horse, displaying great symmetry ofbone. An hostler stood near, holding by the bridle another immensehorse--apparently a near relative to the animal in the chaise--readysaddled for Mr. Winkle.

  "Bless my soul!" said Mr. Pickwick, as they stood upon the pavementwhile the coats were being put in. "Bless my soul! who's to drive? Inever 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 himquiet, 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 vaggin-load of monkeyswith their tails burnt off."

  The last recommendation was indisputable. Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrassgot into the bin; Mr. Pickwick ascended to his perch, and deposited hisfeet on a floor-clothed shelf, erected beneath it for that purpose.

  "Now, shiny Villiam," said the hostler to the deputy hostler, "give thegen'lm'n the ribbins." "Shiny Villiam"--so called, probably, from hissleek hair and oily countenance--placed the reins in Mr. Pickwick'sleft hand; and the upper hostler thrust a whip into his right.

  "Wo--o!" cried Mr. Pickwick, as the tall quadruped evinced a decidedinclination 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'simpetuosity, 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 gettin' up on the wrong side," whispereda grinning post-boy to the inexpressibly gratified waiter.

  Mr. Winkle, thus instructed, climbed into his saddle, with about asmuch difficulty as he would have experienced in getting up the side ofa first-rate man-of-war.

  "All right?" inquired Mr. Pickwick, with an inward presentiment that itwas all wrong.

  "All right," replied Mr. Winkle faintly.

  "Let 'em go," cried the hostler,--"Hold him in, sir," and away wentthe chaise, and the saddle-horse, with Mr. Pickwick on the box ofthe one, and Mr. Winkle on the back of the other, to the delight andgratification 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 thestreet in the most mysterious manner--side first, with his head towardone side of the way, and his tail towards the other.

  _"Wo--o!" cried Mr. Pickwick._

  _"Wo--o!" echoed Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass from the bin._]

  Mr. Pickwick had no leisure to observe either this or any otherparticular, the whole of his faculties being concentrated in themanagement of the animal attached to the chaise, who displayed variouspeculiarities, highly interesting to a bystander, but by no meansequally amusing to any one seated behind him. Besides constantlyjerking his head up, in a very unpleasant and uncomfortable manner, andtugging at the reins to an extent which rendered it a matter of greatdifficulty for Mr. Pickwick to hold them, he had a singular propensityfor darting suddenly every now and then to the side of the road, thenstopping short, and then rushing forward for some minutes, at a speedwhich it was wholly impossible to control.

  "_T'other side, sir, if you please_"]

  "What _can_ he mean by this?" said Mr. Snodgrass, when the horse hadexecuted this manoeuvre for the twentieth time.

  "I don't know," replied Mr. Tupman; "it _looks_ very like shying, don'tit?" Mr. Snodgrass was about to reply, when he was interrupted by ashout from Mr. Pickwick.

  "Wo--o!" said that gentleman; "I have dropped my whip."

  "Winkle," said Mr. Snodgrass as the equestrian came trotting up onthe tall horse, with his hat over his ears, and shaking all over, asif he would shake to pieces, with the violence of the exercise, "pickup the whip, there's a good fellow." Mr. Winkle pulled at the bridleof the tall horse till he was black in the face; and having at lengthsucceeded 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 hisdisposition, was desirous of having a little innocent recreation withMr. Winkle, or whether it occurred to him that he could perform thejourney as much to his own satisfaction without a rider as with one,are points upon which, of course, we can arrive at no definite anddistinct conclusion. By whatever motives the animal was actuated,certain it is that Mr. Winkle had no sooner touched the reins, than heslipped them over his head, and darted backwards to their full length.

  "Poor fellow," said Mr. Winkle, soothingly,--"poor fellow--goodold horse." The "poor fellow" was proof against flattery: the moreMr. 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 fromthe other as when they first commenced--an unsatisfactory sort of thingunder any circumstances, but particularly so in a lonely road, where noassistance can be procured.

  "What am I to do?" shouted Mr. Winkle, after the dodging had beenprolonged for a considerable time. "What am I to do? I can't get onhim."

  _Mr. Pickwick ran to his assistance._]

  "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: hethrew the reins on the horse's back, and having descended from hisseat, carefully drew the chaise into the hedge, lest anything shouldcome along the road, and stepped back to the assistance of hisdistressed companion, leaving Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass in thevehicle.

  The horse no sooner beheld Mr. Pickwick advancing towards him withthe chaise whip in his hand, than he exchanged the rotatory motion inwhich he had previously indulged, for a retrograde movement of so verydetermined a character, that it at once drew Mr. Winkle, who was stillat 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 hisassistance, but the faster Mr. Pickwick ran forward, the faster thehorse ran backward. There was a great scraping of feet, and kicking upof the dust; and at last Mr. Winkle, his arms being nearly pulled outof 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 withcountenances of blank dismay. A rattling noise at a little distanceattracted their attention. They looked up.

  "Bless my soul!" exclaimed the agonised Mr. Pickwick, "there's theother horse running away!"

  It was but too true. The animal was startled by the noise, and thereins were on his back. The result may be guessed. He tore off with thefour-wheeled chaise behind him, and Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass in thefour-wheeled chaise. The heat was a short one. Mr. Tupman threw himselfinto the hedge, Mr. Snodgrass followed his example, the horse dashedthe four-wheeled chaise against a wooden bridge, separated the wheelsfrom the body, and the bin from the perch; and finally stood stockstill to gaze upon the ruin he had made.

  The first care of the two unspilt friends was to extricate theirunfortunate companions from their bed of quickset--a process whichgave them the unspeakable satisfaction of discovering that they hadsustained no injury, beyond sundry rents in their garments, and variouslacerations from the brambles. The next thing to be done was, tounharness the horse. This complicated process having been effected,the party walked slowly forward, leading the horse among them, andabandoning the chaise to its fate.

  An hour's walking brought the travellers to a little road-sidepublic-house, with two elm trees, a horse trough, and a sign-post, infront; one or two deformed hay-ricks behind, a kitchen garden at theside, and rotten sheds and mouldering out-houses jumbled in strangeconfusion all about it. A red-headed man was working in the garden; andto him Mr. Pickwick called lustily--"Hallo there!"

  The red-headed man raised his body, shaded his eyes with his hand, andstared, long and coolly, at Mr. Pickwick and his companions.

  "Hallo there!" repeated Mr. Pickwick.

  "Hallo!" was the red-headed man's reply.

  "How far is it to Dingley Dell?"

  "Better er seven mile."

  "Is it a good road?"

  "No, 'tan't." Having uttered this brief reply, and apparently satisfiedhimself with another scrutiny, the red-headed man resumed his work.

  "We want to put this horse up here," said Mr. Pickwick; "I suppose wecan, 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, horsein 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 armpits, 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 lookedvery hard at the whole party, and the red-headed
man whisperedsomething in her ear.

  "No," replied the woman, after a little consideration, "I'm afeered onit."

  "Afraid!" exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, "what's the woman afraid of?"

  "It got us into trouble last time," said the woman, turning into thehouse; "I woant have nothin' to say to 'un."

  "Most extraordinary thing I ever met with in my life," said theastonished Mr. Pickwick.

  "I--I--really believe," whispered Mr. Winkle, as his friends gatheredround him, "that they think we have come by this horse in somedishonest manner."

  "What!" exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, in a storm of indignation. Mr. Winklemodestly repeated his suggestion.

  "Hallo, you fellow!" said the angry Mr. Pickwick, "do you think westole this horse?"

  "I'm sure ye did," replied the red-headed man, with a grin whichagitated his countenance from one auricular organ to the other. Sayingwhich he turned into the house, and banged the door after him.

  "It's like a dream," ejaculated Mr. Pickwick, "a hideous dream. Theidea of a man's walking about, all day, with a dreadful horse that hecan't get rid of!" The depressed Pickwickians turned moodily away, witha 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 theirfour-footed companion turned into the lane leading to Manor Farm: andeven when they were so near their place of destination, the pleasurethey would have otherwise experienced was materially damped as theyreflected on the singularity of their appearance, and the absurdity oftheir situation. Torn clothes, lacerated faces, dusty shoes, exhaustedlooks, and, above all, the horse. Oh, how Mr. Pickwick cursed thathorse: he had eyed the noble animal from time to time with looksexpressive of hatred and revenge; more than once he had calculated theprobable amount of the expense he would incur by cutting his throat;and now the temptation to destroy him, or to cast him loose upon theworld, rushed upon his mind with tenfold force. He was roused from ameditation on these dire imaginings, by the sudden appearance of twofigures at a turn of the lane. It was Mr. Wardle, and his faithfulattendant, the fat boy.

  "Why, where _have_ you been?" said the hospitable old gentleman;"I've been waiting for you all day. Well, you _do_ look tired. What!Scratches! Not hurt, I hope--eh? Well, I _am_ glad to hear that--very.So you've been spilt, eh? Never mind. Common accident in these parts.Joe--he's asleep again!--Joe, take that horse from the gentleman, andlead it into the stable."

  The fat boy sauntered heavily behind them with the animal; and the oldgentleman, condoling with his guests in homely phrase on so much of theday's adventures as they thought proper to communicate, led the way tothe kitchen.

  "We'll have you put to rights here," said the old gentleman, "and thenI'll introduce you to the people in the parlour. Emma, bring out thecherry brandy; now, Jane, a needle and thread here; towels and water,Mary. Come, girls, bustle about."

  Three or four buxom girls speedily dispersed in search of thedifferent articles in requisition, while a couple of large-headed,circular-visaged males rose from their seats in the chimney-corner(for although it was a May evening, their attachment to the woodfire appeared as cordial as if it were Christmas), and dived intosome obscure recesses, from which they speedily produced a bottle ofblacking, and some half-dozen brushes.

  "Bustle!" said the old gentleman again, but the admonition was quiteunnecessary, for one of the girls poured out the cherry brandy, andanother brought in the towels, and one of the men suddenly seizingMr. Pickwick by the leg, at imminent hazard of throwing him off hisbalance, brushed away at his foot, till his corns were red-hot; whilethe other shampoo'd Mr. Winkle with a heavy clothes-brush, indulging,during the operation, in that hissing sound which hostlers are wont toproduce when engaged in rubbing down a horse.

  Mr. Snodgrass, having concluded his ablutions, took a survey of theroom, while standing with his back to the fire, sipping his cherrybrandy with heartfelt satisfaction. He describes it as a largeapartment, with a red brick floor and a capacious chimney; the ceilinggarnished with hams, sides of bacon, and ropes of onions. The wallswere decorated with several hunting-whips, two or three bridles, asaddle, and an old rusty blunderbuss, with an inscription below it,intimating that it was "Loaded"--as it had been, on the same authority,for half a century at least. An old eight-day clock, of solemn andsedate demeanour, ticked gravely in one corner; and a silver watch, ofequal antiquity, dangled from one of the many hooks which ornamentedthe dresser.

  "Ready?" said the old gentleman, inquiringly, when his guests had beenwashed, mended, brushed, and brandied.

  "Quite," replied Mr. Pickwick.

  "Come along, then," and the party having traversed several darkpassages, and being joined by Mr. Tupman, who had lingered behind tosnatch a kiss from Emma, for which he had been duly rewarded withsundry pushings and scratchings, arrived at the parlour door.

  "Welcome," said their hospitable host, throwing it open and steppingforward to announce them, "Welcome, gentlemen, to Manor Farm."