[Illustration]
_A Discovery and a Chase_
The supper was ready laid, the chairs were drawn round the table,
bottles, jugs, and glasses were arranged upon the sideboard, and
everything betokened the approach of the most convivial period in the
whole four-and-twenty hours.
"Where's Rachael?" said Mr. Wardle.
"Ay, and Jingle?" added Mr. Pickwick.
"Dear me," said the host, "I wonder I haven't missed him before. Why,
I don't think I have heard his voice for two hours at least. Emily, my
dear, ring the bell."
The bell was rung, and the fat boy appeared.
"Where's Miss Rachael?" He couldn't say.
"Where's Mr. Jingle, then?" He didn't know.
Everybody looked surprised. It was late--past eleven o'clock. Mr.
Tupman laughed in his sleeve. They were loitering somewhere, talking
about _him_. Ha, ha! capital notion that--funny.
"Never mind," said Wardle, after a short pause, "they'll turn up
presently, I dare say. I never wait supper for anybody."
"Excellent rule that," said Mr. Pickwick, "admirable."
"Pray, sit down," said the host.
"Certainly," said Mr. Pickwick: and down they sat.
There was a gigantic round of cold beef on the table, and Mr. Pickwick
was supplied with a plentiful portion of it. He had raised his fork
to his lips, and was on the very point of opening his mouth for the
reception of a piece of beef, when the hum of many voices suddenly
arose in the kitchen. He paused, and laid down his fork. Mr. Wardle
paused too, and insensibly released his hold of the carving-knife,
which remained inserted in the beef. He looked at Mr. Pickwick. Mr.
Pickwick looked at him.
Heavy footsteps were heard in the passage; the parlour door was
suddenly burst open; and the man who had cleaned Mr. Pickwick's boots
on his first arrival, rushed into the room, followed by the fat boy,
and all the domestics.
"What the devil's the meaning of all this?" exclaimed the host.
"The kitchen chimney a'n't a-fire, is it, Emma?" inquired the old lady.
"Lor, grandma! No," screamed both the young ladies.
"What's the matter?" roared the master of the house.
The man gasped for breath, and faintly ejaculated--
"They ha' gone, Mas'r!--gone right clean off, sir!" (At this juncture
Mr. Tupman was observed to lay down his knife and fork, and to turn
very pale.)
[Illustration: "_Here I am; but I han't a willin_"]
"Who's gone?" said Mr. Wardle, fiercely.
"Mus'r Jingle and Miss Rachael, in a po'-chay, from Blue Lion,
Muggleton. I was there; but I couldn't stop 'em; so I run off to
tell'ee."
"I paid his expenses!" said Mr. Tupman, jumping up frantically. "He's
got ten pounds of mine!--stop him!--he's swindled me!--I won't bear
it!--I'll have justice, Pickwick!--I won't stand it!" and with sundry
incoherent exclamations of the like nature, the unhappy gentleman spun
round and round the apartment, in a transport of frenzy.
"Lord preserve us!" ejaculated Mr. Pickwick, eyeing the extraordinary
gestures of his friend with terrified surprise. "He's gone mad! What
shall we do!"
"Do!" said the stout old host, who regarded only the last words of the
sentence. "Put the horse in the gig! I'll get a chaise at the Lion,
and follow 'em instantly. Where"--he exclaimed, as the man ran out to
execute the commission--"Where's that villain Joe?"
"Here I am; but I han't a willin," replied a voice. It was the fat
boy's.
"Let me get at him, Pickwick," cried Wardle, as he rushed at the
ill-starred youth. "He was bribed by that scoundrel, Jingle, to put me
on a wrong scent, by telling a cock-and-a-bull story of my sister and
your friend Tupman!" (Here Mr. Tupman sunk into a chair.) "Let me get
at him!"
"Don't let him!" screamed all the women, above whose exclamations the
blubbering of the fat boy was distinctly audible.
"I won't be held!" cried the old man. "Mr. Winkle, take your hands off.
Mr. Pickwick, let me go, sir!"
It was a beautiful sight, in that moment of turmoil and confusion,
to behold the placid and philosophical expression of Mr. Pickwick's
face, albeit somewhat flushed with exertion, as he stood with his arms
firmly clasped round the extensive waist of their corpulent host, thus
restraining the impetuosity of his passion, while the fat boy was
scratched, and pulled, and pushed from the room by all the females
congregated therein. He had no sooner released his hold, than the man
entered to announce that the gig was ready.
"Don't let him go alone!" screamed the females. "He'll kill somebody!"
"I'll go with him," said Mr. Pickwick.
"You're a good fellow, Pickwick," said the host, grasping his hand.
"Emma, give Mr. Pickwick a shawl to tie round his neck--make haste.
Look after your grandmother, girls; she has fainted away. Now then, are
you ready?"
Mr. Pickwick's mouth and chin having been hastily enveloped in a large
shawl: his hat having been put on his head, and his great coat thrown
over his arm, he replied in the affirmative.
They jumped into the gig. "Give her her head, Tom," cried the host;
and away they went, down the narrow lanes; jolting in and out of the
cart-ruts, and bumping up against the hedges on either side, as if they
would go to pieces every moment.
"How much are they ahead?" shouted Wardle, as they drove up to the
door of the Blue Lion, round which a little crowd had collected, late
as it was.
"Not above three-quarters of an hour," was everybody's reply.
"Chaise and four directly!--out with 'em! Put up the gig afterwards."
"Now, boys!" cried the landlord--"chaise and four out--make haste--look
alive there!"
Away ran the hostlers, and the boys. The lanterns glimmered, as the men
ran to and fro; the horses' hoofs clattered on the uneven paving of the
yard; the chaise rumbled as it was drawn out of the coach-house; and
all was noise and bustle.
"Now then!--is that chaise coming out to-night?" cried Wardle.
"Coming down the yard now, sir," replied the hostler.
Out came the chaise--in went the horses--on sprung the boys--in got the
travellers.
"Mind--the seven-mile stage in less than half-an-hour!" shouted Wardle.
"Off with you!"
The boys applied whip and spur, the waiter shouted, the hostlers
cheered, and away they went, fast and furious.
"Pretty situation," thought Mr. Pickwick, when he had had a moment's
time for reflection. "Pretty situation for the General Chairman of the
Pickwick Club. Damp chaise--strange horses--fifteen miles an hour--and
twelve o'clock at night!"
For the first three or four miles not a word was spoken by either of
the gentlemen, each being too much immersed in his own reflections to
address any observations to his companion. When they had gone over
that much ground, however, and the horses getting thoroughly warmed
began to do their work in really good style, Mr. Pickwick became too
much exhilarated with the rapidity of the motion, to remain any longer
perfectly mute.
"We're sure to catch them, I think," said he.
"Hope so," replied his companion.
"Fine night," said Mr. Pickwick, looking up at the moon, which was
shining brightly.
"So much the worse," returned Wardle; "for they'll have had all the
advantage of the moonlight to get the start of us, and we shall lose
it. It will have gone down in another hour."
"It will be rather unpleasant going at this rate in the dark, won't
it?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.
"I daresay it will," replied his friend, drily.
Mr. Pickwick's temporary excitement began to sober down a little, as
he reflected upon the inconveniences and dangers of the expedition
in which he had so thoughtlessly embarked. He was roused by a loud
shouting of the post-boy on the leader.
"Yo--yo--yo--yo--yoe!" went the first boy.
"Yo--yo--yo--yoe!" went the second.
"Yo--yo--yo--yoe!" chimed in old Wardle himself, most lustily, with his
head and half his body out of the coach window.
"Yo--yo--yo--yoe!" shouted Mr. Pickwick, taking up the burden of the
cry, though he had not the slightest notion of its meaning or object.
And amidst the yo--yoing of the whole four, the chaise stopped.
"What's the matter?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.
"There's a gate here," replied old Wardle. "We shall hear something of
the fugitives."
After a lapse of five minutes, consumed in incessant knocking and
shouting, an old man in his shirt and trousers emerged from the
turnpike-house, and opened the gate.
"How long is it since a post-chaise went through here?" inquired Mr.
Wardle.
"How long?"
"Ah!"
"Why, I don't rightly know. It worn't a long time ago, nor it worn't a
short time ago--just between the two, perhaps."
"Has any chaise been by at all?"
"Oh yes, there's been a shay by."
"How long ago, my friend," interposed Mr. Pickwick, "an hour?"
"Ah, I daresay it might be," replied the man.
"Or two hours?" inquired the post-boy on the wheeler.
"Well, I shouldn't wonder if it was," returned the old man, doubtfully.
"Drive on, boys," cried the testy old gentleman: "don't waste any more
time with that old idiot!"
"Idiot!" exclaimed the old man with a grin, as he stood in the middle
of the road with the gate half-closed, watching the chaise which
rapidly diminished in the increasing distance. "No--not much o'
that either; you've lost ten minutes here, and gone away as wise as
you came, arter all. If every man on the line as has a guinea give
him, earns it half as well, you won't catch t'other shay this side
Mich'lmas, old short-and-fat." And with another prolonged grin, the old
man closed the gate, re-entered his house, and bolted the door after
him.
Meanwhile the chaise proceeded, without any slackening of pace, towards
the conclusion of the stage. The moon, as Wardle had foretold, was
rapidly on the wane; large tiers of dark heavy clouds, which had been
gradually overspreading the sky for some time past, now formed one
black mass over head; and large drops of rain which pattered every
now and then against the windows of the chaise, seemed to warn the
travellers of the rapid approach of a stormy night. The wind, too,
which was directly against them, swept in furious gusts down the narrow
road, and howled dismally through the trees which skirted the pathway.
Mr. Pickwick drew his coat closer about him, coiled himself more snugly
up into the corner of the chaise, and fell into a sound sleep, from
which he was only awakened by the stopping of the vehicle, the sound of
the hostler's bell, and a loud cry of "Horses on directly!"
But here another delay occurred. The boys were sleeping with such
mysterious soundness, that it took five minutes apiece to wake them.
The hostler had somehow or other mislaid the key of the stable, and
even when that was found, two sleepy helpers put the wrong harness on
the wrong horses, and the whole process of harnessing had to be gone
through afresh. Had Mr. Pickwick been alone, these multiplied obstacles
would have completely put an end to the pursuit at once, but old Wardle
was not to be so easily daunted; and he laid about him with such hearty
good-will, cuffing this man, and pushing that; strapping a buckle
here, and taking in a link there, that the chaise was ready in a much
shorter time than could reasonably have been expected under so many
difficulties.
They resumed their journey; and certainly the prospect before them was
by no means encouraging. The stage was fifteen miles long, the night
was dark, the wind high, and the rain pouring in torrents. It was
impossible to make any great way against such obstacles united; it was
hard upon one o'clock already; and nearly two hours were consumed in
getting to the end of the stage. Here, however, an object presented
itself, which rekindled their hopes, and reanimated their drooping
spirits.
"When did this chaise come in?" cried old Wardle, leaping out of his
own vehicle, and pointing to one covered with wet mud, which was
standing in the yard.
"Not a quarter of an hour ago, sir," replied the hostler, to whom the
question was addressed.
"Lady and gentleman?" inquired Wardle, almost breathless with
impatience.
"Yes, sir."
"Tall gentleman--dress coat--long legs--thin body?"
"Yes, sir."
"Elderly lady--thin face--rather skinny--eh?"
"Yes, sir."
"By heavens! it's the couple, Pickwick," exclaimed the old gentleman.
"Would have been here before," said the hostler, "but they broke a
trace."
"It is!" said Wardle, "it is, by Jove! Chaise and four instantly!
We shall catch them yet, before they reach the next stage. A guinea
a-piece, boys--be alive there--bustle about--there's good fellows."
And with such admonitions as these, the old gentleman ran up and down
the yard, and bustled to and fro, in a state of excitement which
communicated itself to Mr. Pickwick also; and under the influence of
which, that gentleman got himself into complicated entanglements with
harness, and mixed up with horses and wheels of chaises, in the most
surprising manner, firmly believing that by so doing he was materially
forwarding the preparations for their resuming their journey.
"Jump in--jump in!" cried old Wardle, climbing into the chaise,
pulling up the steps, and slamming the door after him. "Come along!
Make haste!" And before Mr. Pickwick knew precisely what he was about,
he felt himself forced in at the other door, by one pull from the old
gentleman, and one push from the hostler; and off they were again.
"Ah! we _are_ moving now," said the old gentleman exultingly. They were
indeed, as was sufficiently testified to Mr. Pickwick, by his constant
collisions either with the hard woodwork of the chaise, or the body of
his companion.
"Hold up!" said the stout old Mr. Wardle, as Mr. Pickwick dived head
foremost into his capacious waistcoat.
"I never did feel such a jolting in my life," said Mr. Pickwick.
"Never mind," replied his companion, "it will soon be over. Steady,
steady."
Mr. Pickwick planted himself into his own corner, as firmly as he
could; and on whirled the chaise faster than ever.
They had travelled in this way about three miles, when Mr. Wardle, who
had been looking out of the window for two or three minutes, suddenly
drew in his face, covered with splashes, and exclaimed in breathless
eagerness--
"Here they are!"
Mr. Pickwick thrust his head out of his window. Yes: there was a chaise
and four, a short distance before them, dashing along at full gallop.
"Go on, go on," almost shrieked the old gentleman. "Two guineas
a-piece, boys--don't let 'em gain on us--keep it up--keep it up."
The horses in the first chaise started on at their utmost speed; and
those in Mr. Wardle's galloped furiously behind them.
"I see his head," exclaimed the choleric old man, "damme, I see his
head."
"So do I," said Mr. Pickwick, "that's he."
Mr. Pickwick was not mistaken. The countenance of Mr. Jingle,
completely coated with the mud thrown up by the wheels, was plainly
discernible at the window of his chaise; and the motion of his arm,
which he was waving violently towards the postilions, denoted that he
was encouraging them to increased exertion.
The interest was intense. Fields, trees, and hedges seemed to rush
past them with the velocity of a whirlwind, so rapid was the pace
at which they tore along. They were close by the side of the first
chaise. Jingle's voice could be plainly heard, even above the din
of the wheels, urging on the boys. Old Mr. Wardle foamed with rage
and excitement. He roared out scoundrels and villains by the dozen,
clenched his fist and shook it expressively at the object of his
indignation; but Mr. Jingle only answered with a contemptuous smile,
and replied to his menaces by a shout of triumph, as his horses,
answering the increased application of whip and spur, broke into a
faster gallop, and left the pursuers behind.
Mr. Pickwick had just drawn in his head, and Mr. Wardle, exhausted with
shouting, had done the same, when a tremendous jolt threw them forward
against the front of the vehicle. There was a sudden bump--a loud
crash--away rolled a wheel, and over went the chaise.
After a few seconds of bewilderment and confusion, in which nothing but
the plunging of horses, and breaking of glass, could be made out, Mr.
Pickwick felt himself violently pulled out from among the ruins of the
chaise; and as soon as he had gained his feet, extricated his head from
the skirts of his great-coat, which materially impeded the usefulness
of his spectacles, the full disaster of the case met his view.
Old Mr. Wardle without a hat, and his clothes torn in several places,
stood by his side, and the fragments of the chaise lay scattered at
their feet. The post-boys, who had succeeded in cutting the traces,
were standing, disfigured with mud and disordered by hard riding, by
the horses' heads. About a hundred yards in advance was the other
chaise, which had pulled up on hearing the crash. The postilions, each
with a broad grin convulsing his countenance, were viewing the adverse
party from their saddles, and Mr. Jingle was contemplating the wreck
from the coach-window with evident satisfaction. The day was just
breaking, and the whole scene was rendered perfectly visible by the
grey light of the morning.
"Hallo!" shouted the shameless Jingle, "anybody damaged?--elderly
gentlemen--no light weights--dangerous work--very."
[Illustration: _"Love to Tuppy--won't you get up behind?--drive on,
boys," replied Jingle._]
"You're a rascal!" roared Wardle.
"Ha! ha!" replied Jingle; and then he added, with a knowing wink,
and a jerk of the thumb towards the interior of the chaise--"I
say--she's very well--desires her compliments--begs you won't trouble
yourself--love to _Tuppy_--won't you get up behind?--drive on, boys."
The postilions resumed their proper attitudes, and away rattled the
chaise, Mr. Jingle fluttering in derision a white handkerchief from the
coach-window.
Nothing in the whole adventure, not even the upset, had disturbed
the calm and equable current of Mr. Pickwick's temper. The villainy,
however, which could first borrow money of his faithful follower, and
then abbreviate his name to "Tuppy," was more than he could patiently
bear. He drew his breath hard, and coloured up to the very tips of his
spectacles, as he said, slowly and emphatically--
"If ever I meet that man again, I'll----"
"Yes, yes," interrupted Wardle, "that's all very well: but while we
stand talking here, they'll get their licence, and be married in
London."
Mr. Pickwick paused, bottled up his vengeance, and corked it down.
"How far is it to the next stage?" inquired Mr. Wardle of one of the
boys.
"Six mile, an't it, Tom?"
"Rayther better."
"Rayther better nor six mile, sir."
"Can't be helped," said Wardle, "we must walk it, Pickwick."
"No help for it," replied that truly great man.
So sending forward one of the boys on horseback to procure a fresh
chaise and horses, and leaving the other behind to take care of the
broken one, Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Wardle set manfully forward on the
walk, first tying their shawls round their necks, and slouching down
their hats to escape as much as possible from the deluge of rain, which
after a slight cessation had again begun to pour heavily down.