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_Too full of Adventure to be Briefly Described_
There is no month in the whole year, in which nature wears a more
beautiful appearance than in the month of August. Spring has many
beauties, and May is a fresh and blooming month, but the charms of
this time of the year are enhanced by their contrast with the winter
season. August has no such advantage. It comes when we remember nothing
but clear skies, green fields, and sweet-smelling flowers--when the
recollection of snow, and ice, and bleak winds, has faded from our
minds as completely as they have disappeared from the earth,--and yet
what a pleasant time it is! Orchards and corn-fields ring with the hum
of labour; trees bend beneath the thick clusters of rich fruit which
bow their branches to the ground; and the corn, piled in graceful
sheaves, or waving in every light breath that sweeps above it, as if
it wooed the sickle, tinges the landscape with a golden hue. A mellow
softness appears to hang over the whole earth; the influence of the
season seems to extend itself to the very waggon, whose slow motion
across the well-reaped field, is perceptible only to the eye, but
strikes with no harsh sound upon the ear.
As the coach rolls swiftly past the fields and orchards which skirt
the road, groups of women and children, piling the fruit in sieves, or
gathering the scattered ears of corn, pause for an instant from their
labour, and shading the sun-burnt face with a still browner hand, gaze
upon the passengers with curious eyes, while some stout urchin, too
small to work, but too mischievous to be left at home, scrambles over
the side of the basket in which he has been deposited for security,
and kicks and screams with delight. The reaper stops in his work, and
stands with folded arms, looking at the vehicle as it whirls past; and
the rough cart-horses bestow a sleepy glance upon the smart coach team,
which says, as plainly as a horse's glance can, "It's all very fine to
look at, but slow going, over a heavy field, is better than warm work
like that, upon a dusty road, after all." You cast a look behind you,
as you turn a corner of the road. The women and children have resumed
their labour: the reaper once more stoops to his work: the cart-horses
have moved on: and all are again in motion.
The influence of a scene like this, was not lost upon the
well-regulated mind of Mr. Pickwick. Intent upon the resolution he had
formed, of exposing the real character of the nefarious Jingle, in any
quarter in which he might be pursuing his fraudulent designs, he sat
at first taciturn and contemplative, brooding over the means by which
his purpose could be best attained. By degrees his attention grew more
and more attracted by the objects around him; and at last he derived
as much enjoyment from the ride, as if it had been undertaken for the
pleasantest reason in the world.
"Delightful prospect, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick.
"Beats the chimbley pots, sir," replied Mr. Weller, touching his hat.
"I suppose you have hardly seen anything but chimney-pots and bricks
and mortar all your life, Sam?" said Mr. Pickwick, smiling.
"I worn't always a boots, sir," said Mr. Weller, with a shake of the
head. "I wos a vagginer's boy, once."
"When was that?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.
"When I wos first pitched neck and crop into the world, to play at
leap-frog with its troubles," replied Sam. "I wos a carrier's boy at
startin': then a vagginer's, then a helper, then a boots. Now I'm a
gen'l'm'n's servant. I shall be a gen'l'm'n myself one of these days,
perhaps, with a pipe in my mouth, and a summer-house in the back
garden. Who knows? _I_ shouldn't be surprised, for one."
"You are quite a philosopher, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick.
"It runs in the family, I b'lieve, sir," replied Mr. Weller. "My
father's wery much in that line now. If my mother-in-law blows him up,
he whistles. She flies in a passion, and breaks his pipe; he steps out,
and gets another. Then she screams wery loud, and falls into 'sterics;
and he smokes very comfortably 'till she comes to agin. That's
philosophy, sir, an't it?"
"A very good substitute for it, at all events," replied Mr. Pickwick,
laughing. "It must have been of great service to you, in the course of
your rambling life, Sam."
"Service, sir," exclaimed Sam. "You may say that. Arter I run away from
the carrier, and afore I took up with the vagginer, I had unfurnished
lodgings for a fortnight."
"Unfurnished lodgings?" said Mr. Pickwick.
"Yes--the dry arches of Waterloo Bridge. Fine sleeping-place--within
ten minutes' walk of all the public offices--only if there is any
objection to it, it is that the sitivation's _rayther_ too airy. I see
some queer sights there."
"Ah, I suppose you did," said Mr. Pickwick, with an air of considerable
interest.
"Sights, sir," resumed Mr. Weller, "as 'ud penetrate your benevolent
heart, and come out on the other side. You don't see the reg'lar
wagrants there; trust 'em, they knows better than that. Young beggars,
male and female, as hasn't made a rise in their profession, takes
up their quarters there sometimes; but it's generally the worn-out,
starving, houseless creeturs as rolls themselves in the dark corners o'
them lonesome places--poor creeturs as ain't up to the twopenny rope."
"And pray, Sam, what is the twopenny rope?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.
"The twopenny rope, sir," replied Mr. Weller, "is just a cheap lodgin'
house, where the beds is twopence a night."
"What do they call a bed a rope for?" said Mr. Pickwick.
"Bless your innocence, sir, that an't it," replied Sam. "Wen the lady
and gen'l'm'n as keeps the Hot-el first begun business they used to
make the beds on the floor; but this wouldn't do at no price, 'cos
instead o' taking a moderate two-penn'orth o' sleep, the lodgers used
to lie there half the day. So now they has two ropes, 'bout six foot
apart, and three from the floor, which goes right down the room; and
the beds are made of slips of coarse sacking, stretched across 'em."
"Well?" said Mr. Pickwick.
"Well," said Mr. Weller, "the adwantage o' the plan's hobvious. At six
o'clock every mornin' they lets go the ropes at one end, and down falls
all the lodgers. 'Consequence is, that being thoroughly waked, they
get up wery quietly, and walk away! Beg your pardon, sir," said Sam,
suddenly breaking off in his loquacious discourse. "Is this Bury St.
Edmunds?"
"It is," replied Mr. Pickwick.
The coach rattled through the well-paved streets of a handsome little
town, of thriving and cleanly appearance, and stopped before a large
inn situated in a wide open street, nearly facing the old abbey.
"And this," said Mr. Pickwick, looking up, "is the Angel! We alight
here, Sam. But some caution is necessary. Order a private room, and do
not mention my name. You understand?"
"Right as a trivet, sir," replied Mr. Weller, with a wink of
intelligence; and having dragged Mr. Pickwick's portmanteau from the
hind boot, into which it had been hastily thrown when they joined the
coach at Eatanswill, Mr. Weller disappeared on his errand. A private
room was speedily engaged; and into it Mr. Pickwick was ushered without
delay.
"Now, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, "the first thing to be done is to----"
"Order dinner, sir," interposed Mr. Weller. "It's very late, sir."
"Ah, so it is," said Mr. Pickwick, looking at his watch. "You are
right, Sam."
"And if I might adwise, sir," added Mr. Weller, "I'd just have a good
night's rest arterwards, and not begin inquiring arter this here deep
'un 'till the mornin'. There's nothin' so refreshin' as sleep, sir, as
the servant-girl said afore she drank the egg-cupful o' laudanum."
"I think you are right, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick. "But I must first
ascertain that he is in the house, and not likely to go away."
"Leave that to me, sir," said Sam. "Let me order you a snug little
dinner, and make my inquiries below while it's a getting ready; I could
worm ev'ry secret out o' the boots's heart, in five minutes, sir."
"Do so," said Mr. Pickwick: and Mr. Weller at once retired.
In half an hour, Mr. Pickwick was seated at a very satisfactory dinner;
and in three-quarters Mr. Weller returned with the intelligence that
Mr. Charles Fitz-Marshall had ordered his private room to be retained
for him, until further notice. He was going to spend the evening at
some private house in the neighbourhood, had ordered the boots to sit
up until his return, and had taken his servant with him.
"Now, sir," argued Mr. Weller, when he had concluded his report, "if I
can get a talk with this here servant in the mornin', he'll tell me all
his master's concerns."
"How do you know that?" interposed Mr. Pickwick.
"Bless your heart, sir, servants always do," replied Mr. Weller.
"Oh, ah, I forgot that," said Mr. Pickwick. "Well?"
"Then you can arrange what's best to be done, sir, and we can act
according."
As it appeared that this was the best arrangement that could be made,
it was finally agreed upon. Mr. Weller, by his master's permission,
retired to spend the evening in his own way; and was shortly afterwards
elected, by the unanimous voice of the assembled company, into the
tap-room chair, in which honourable post he acquitted himself so much
to the satisfaction of the gentlemen-frequenters, that their roars of
laughter and approbation penetrated to Mr. Pickwick's bed-room, and
shortened the term of his natural rest by at least three hours.
Early on the ensuing morning, Mr. Weller was dispelling all the
feverish remains of the previous evening's conviviality, through
the instrumentality of a halfpenny shower-bath (having induced a
young gentleman attached to the stable-department, by the offer of
that coin, to pump over his head and face, until he was perfectly
restored), when he was attracted by the appearance of a young fellow
in mulberry-coloured livery, who was sitting on a bench in the
yard, reading what appeared to be a hymn-book, with an air of deep
abstraction, but who occasionally stole a glance at the individual
under the pump, as if he took some interest in his proceedings,
nevertheless.
"You're a rum 'un to look at, you are!" thought Mr. Weller, the first
time his eyes encountered the glance of the stranger in the mulberry
suit: who had a large, sallow, ugly face, very sunken eyes, and a
gigantic head, from which depended a quantity of lank black hair.
"You're a rum 'un!" thought Mr. Weller; and thinking this, he went on
washing himself, and thought no more about him.
Still the man kept glancing from his hymn-book to Sam, and from Sam to
his hymn-book, as if he wanted to open a conversation. So at last, Sam,
by way of giving him an opportunity, said with a familiar nod--
"How are you, governor?"
"I am happy to say I am pretty well, sir," said the man, speaking with
great deliberation, and closing the book. "I hope you are the same,
sir?"
"Why, if I felt less like a walking brandy-bottle, I shouldn't be quite
so staggery this mornin'," replied Sam. "Are you stoppin' in this
house, old 'un?"
The mulberry man replied in the affirmative.
"How was it you worn't one of us, last night?" inquired Sam, scrubbing
his face with the towel. "You seem one of the jolly sort--looks as
conwivial as a live trout in a lime-basket," added Mr. Weller, in an
under-tone.
"I was out last night, with my master," replied the stranger.
"What's his name?" inquired Mr. Weller, colouring up very red with
sudden excitement, and the friction of the towel combined.
"Fitz-Marshall," said the mulberry man.
"Give us your hand," said Mr. Weller, advancing; "I should like to know
you. I like your appearance, old fellow."
"Well, that is very strange," said the mulberry man, with great
simplicity of manner. "I like yours so much, that I wanted to speak to
you, from the very first moment I saw you under the pump."
"Did you though?"
"Upon my word. Now, isn't that curious?"
[Illustration: "_Looks as conwivial as a live trout in a lime-basket_"]
"Wery sing'ler," said Sam, inwardly congratulating himself upon the
softness of the stranger. "What's your name, my patriarch?"
"Job."
"And a wery good name it is--only one I know, that an't got a nickname
to it. What's the other name?"
"Trotter," said the stranger. "What is yours?"
Sam bore in mind his master's caution, and replied--
"My name's Walker: my master's name's Wilkins. Will you take a drop o'
somethin' this mornin', Mr. Trotter?"
Mr. Trotter acquiesced in this agreeable proposal; and having deposited
his book in his coat-pocket, accompanied Mr. Weller to the tap, where
they were soon occupied in discussing an exhilarating compound, formed
by mixing together, in a pewter vessel, certain quantities of British
Hollands, and the fragrant essence of the clove.
"And what sort of a place have you got?" inquired Sam, as he filled his
companion's glass, for the second time.
"Bad," said Job, smacking his lips, "very bad."
"You don't mean that?" said Sam.
"I do, indeed. Worse than that, my master's going to be married."
"No."
"Yes; and worse than that, too, he's going to run away with an immense
rich heiress, from boarding-school."
"What a dragon!" said Sam, refilling his companion's glass. "It's some
boarding-school in this town, I suppose, an't it?"
Now, although this question was put in the most careless tone
imaginable, Mr. Job Trotter plainly showed by gestures, that he
perceived his new friend's anxiety to draw forth an answer to it. He
emptied his glass, looked mysteriously at his companion, winked both of
his small eyes, one after the other, and finally made a motion with his
arm, as if he were working an imaginary pump-handle: thereby intimating
that he (Mr. Trotter) considered himself as undergoing the process of
being pumped by Mr. Samuel Weller.
"No, no," said Mr. Trotter, in conclusion, "that's not to be told to
everybody. That is a secret--a great secret, Mr. Walker."
As the mulberry man said this, he turned his glass upside down, as a
means of reminding his companion that he had nothing left wherewith
to slake his thirst. Sam observed the hint; and feeling the delicate
manner in which it was conveyed, ordered the pewter vessel to be
refilled, whereat the small eyes of the mulberry man glistened.
"And so it's a secret?" said Sam.
"I should rather suspect it was," said the mulberry man, sipping his
liquor, with a complacent face.
"I suppose your mas'r's wery rich?" said Sam.
Mr. Trotter smiled, and holding his glass in his left hand, gave four
distinct slaps on the pocket of his mulberry indescribables with his
right, as if to intimate that his master might have done the same
without alarming anybody much by the chinking of coin.
"Ah," said Sam, "that's the game, is it?"
The mulberry man nodded significantly.
"Well, and don't you think, old feller," remonstrated Mr. Weller, "that
if you let your master take in this here young lady, you're a precious
rascal?"
"I know that," said Job Trotter, turning upon his companion a
countenance of deep contrition, and groaning slightly. "I know that,
and that's what it is that preys upon my mind. But what am I to do?"
"Do!" said Sam; "di-wulge to the missis, and give up your master."
"Who'd believe me?" replied Job Trotter. "The young lady's considered
the very picture of innocence and discretion. She'd deny it, and so
would my master. Who'd believe me? I should lose my place, and get
indicted for a conspiracy, or some such thing; that's all I should take
by my motion."
"There's somethin' in that," said Sam, ruminating; "there's somethin'
in that."
"If I knew any respectable gentleman who would take the matter up,"
continued Mr. Trotter, "I might have some hope of preventing the
elopement; but there's the same difficulty, Mr. Walker, just the same.
I know no gentleman in this strange place, and ten to one if I did,
whether he would believe my story."
"Come this way," said Sam, suddenly jumping up, and grasping the
mulberry man by the arm. "My mas'r's the man you want, I see." And
after a slight resistance on the part of Job Trotter, Sam led his
newly-found friend to the apartment of Mr. Pickwick, to whom he
presented him, together with a brief summary of the dialogue we have
just repeated.
"I am very sorry to betray my master, sir," said Job Trotter, applying
to his eyes a pink checked pocket-handkerchief about six inches square.
"The feeling does you a great deal of honour," replied Mr. Pickwick;
"but it is your duty, nevertheless."
"I know it is my duty, sir," replied Job, with great emotion. "We
should all try to discharge our duty, sir, and I humbly endeavour to
discharge mine, sir; but it is a hard trial to betray a master, sir,
whose clothes you wear, and whose bread you eat, even though he is a
scoundrel, sir."
"You are a very good fellow," said Mr. Pickwick, much affected, "an
honest fellow."
"Come, come," interposed Sam, who had witnessed Mr. Trotter's tears
with considerable impatience, "blow this here water-cart bis'ness. It
won't do no good, this won't."
"Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, reproachfully, "I am sorry to find that you
have so little respect for this young man's feelings."
"His feelin's is all wery well, sir," replied Mr. Weller; "and as
they're so wery fine, and it's a pity he should lose 'em, I think he'd
better keep 'em in his own buzzum, than let 'em ewaporate in hot water,
'specially as they do no good. Tears never yet wound up a clock, or
worked a steam ingen'. The next time you go out to a smoking party,
young fellow, fill your pipe with that 'ere reflection; and for the
present just put that bit of pink gingham into your pocket. 'Tain't so
handsome that you need keep waving it about, as if you was a tight-rope
dancer."
"My man is in the right," said Mr. Pickwick, accosting Job, "although
his mode of expressing his opinion is somewhat homely, and occasionally
incomprehensible."
"He is, sir, very right," said Mr. Trotter, "and I will give way no
longer."
"Very well," said Mr. Pickwick. "Now, where is this boarding-school?"
"It is a large, old, red-brick house, just outside the town, sir,"
replied Job Trotter.
"And when," said Mr. Pickwick, "when is this villainous design to be
carried into execution--when is this elopement to take place?"
"To-night, sir," replied Job.
"To-night!" exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.
"This very night, sir," replied Job Trotter. "That is what alarms me so
much."
"Instant measures must be taken," said Mr. Pickwick. "I will see the
lady who keeps the establishment immediately."
"I beg your pardon, sir," said Job, "but that course of proceeding will
never do."
"Why not?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.
"My master, sir, is a very artful man."
"I know he is," said Mr. Pickwick.
"And he has so wound himself round the old lady's heart, sir," resumed
Job, "that she would believe nothing to his prejudice, if you went down
on your bare knees, and swore it; especially as you have no proof but
the word of a servant, who, for anything she knows (and my master would
be sure to say so), was discharged for some fault, and does this in
revenge."
"What had better be done, then?" said Mr. Pickwick.
"Nothing but taking him in the very fact of eloping, will convince the
old lady, sir," replied Job.
"All them old cats _will_ run their heads agin mile-stones," observed
Mr. Weller in a parenthesis.
"But this taking him in the very act of elopement, would be a very
difficult thing to accomplish, I fear," said Mr. Pickwick.
"I don't know, sir," said Mr. Trotter, after a few moments' reflection.
"I think it might be very easily done."
"How?" was Mr. Pickwick's inquiry.
"Why," replied Mr. Trotter, "my master and I, being in the confidence
of the two servants, will be secreted in the kitchen at ten o'clock.
When the family have retired to rest, we shall come out of the kitchen,
and the young lady out of her bedroom. A post-chaise will be waiting,
and away we go."
"Well?" said Mr. Pickwick.
"Well, sir, I have been thinking that if you were in waiting in the
garden behind, alone----"
"Alone," said Mr. Pickwick. "Why alone?"
"I thought it very natural," replied Job, "that the old lady wouldn't
like such an unpleasant discovery to be made before more persons
than can possibly be helped. The young lady, too, sir--consider her
feelings."
"You are very right," said Mr. Pickwick. "The consideration evinces
your delicacy of feeling. Go on; you are very right."
"Well, sir, I have been thinking that if you were waiting in the back
garden alone, and I was to let you in, at the door which opens into it,
from the end of the passage, at exactly half-past eleven o'clock, you
would be just in the very moment of time to assist me in frustrating
the designs of this bad man, by whom I have been unfortunately
ensnared." Here Mr. Trotter sighed deeply.
"Don't distress yourself on that account," said Mr. Pickwick; "if he
had one grain of the delicacy of feeling, which distinguishes you,
humble as your station is, I should have some hopes of him."
Job Trotter bowed low; and in spite of Mr. Weller's previous
remonstrance, the tears again rose to his eyes.
"I never see such a feller," said Sam. "Blessed if I don't think he's
got a main in his head as is always turned on."
"Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, with great severity. "Hold your tongue."
"Wery well, sir," replied Mr. Weller.
"I don't like this plan," said Mr. Pickwick, after deep meditation.
"Why cannot I communicate with the young lady's friends?"
"Because they live one hundred miles from here, sir," responded Job
Trotter.
"That's a clincher," said Mr. Weller, aside.
"Then this garden," resumed Mr. Pickwick. "How am I to get into it?"
"The wall is very low, sir, and your servant will give you a leg up."
"My servant will give me a leg up," repeated Mr. Pickwick,
mechanically. "You will be sure to be near this door that you speak of?"
"You cannot mistake it, sir; it's the only one that opens into the
garden. Tap at it when you hear the clock strike, and I will open it
instantly."
"I don't like the plan," said Mr. Pickwick; "but as I see no other,
and as the happiness of this young lady's whole life is at stake, I
adopt it. I shall be sure to be there."
Thus, for the second time, did Mr. Pickwick's innate good-feeling
involve him in an enterprise from which he would most willingly have
stood aloof.
"What is the name of the house?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.
"Westgate House, sir. You turn a little to the right when you get to
the end of the town; it stands by itself, some little distance off the
high road, with the name on a brass plate on the gate."
"I know it," said Mr. Pickwick. "I observed it once before, when I was
in this town. You may depend upon me."
Mr. Trotter made another bow, and turned to depart, when Mr. Pickwick
thrust a guinea into his hand.
"You're a fine fellow," said Mr. Pickwick, "and I admire your goodness
of heart. No thanks. Remember--eleven o'clock."
"There is no fear of my forgetting it, sir," replied Job Trotter. With
these words he left the room, followed by Sam.
"I say," said the latter, "not a bad notion that 'ere crying. I'd cry
like a rainwater spout in a shower on such good terms. How do you do
it?"
"It comes from the heart, Mr. Walker," replied Job, solemnly. "Good
morning, sir."
"You're a soft customer, you are;--we've got it all out o' you,
anyhow," thought Mr. Weller, as Job walked away.
We cannot state the precise nature of the thoughts which passed through
Mr. Trotter's mind, because we don't know what they were.
The day wore on, evening came, and a little before ten o'clock Sam
Weller reported that Mr. Jingle and Job had gone out together, that
their luggage was packed up, and that they had ordered a chaise. The
plot was evidently in execution, as Mr. Trotter had foretold.
Half-past ten o'clock arrived, and it was time for Mr. Pickwick to
issue forth on his delicate errand. Resisting Sam's tender of his
great-coat, in order that he might have no incumbrance in scaling the
wall, he set forth, followed by his attendant.
There was a bright moon, but it was behind the clouds. It was a fine
dry night, but it was most uncommonly dark. Paths, hedges, fields,
houses and trees, were enveloped in one deep shade. The atmosphere was
hot and sultry, the summer lightning quivered faintly on the verge
of the horizon, and was the only sight that varied the dull gloom in
which everything was wrapped--sound there was none, except the distant
barking of some restless house-dog.
They found the house, read the brass plate, walked round the wall, and
stopped at that portion of it which divided them from the bottom of the
garden.
"You will return to the inn, Sam, when you have assisted me over," said
Mr. Pickwick.
"Wery well, sir."
"And you will sit up, till I return."
"Cert'nly, sir."
"Take hold of my leg; and when I say 'Over,' raise me gently."
"All right, sir."
Having settled these preliminaries, Mr. Pickwick grasped the top of
the wall, and gave the word "Over," which was very literally obeyed.
Whether his body partook in some degree of the elasticity of his mind,
or whether Mr. Weller's notions of a gentle push were of a somewhat
rougher description than Mr. Pickwick's, the immediate effect of his
assistance was to jerk that immortal gentleman completely over the wall
on to the bed beneath, where, after crushing three gooseberry-bushes
and a rose-tree, he finally alighted at full length.
"You ha'n't hurt yourself, I hope, sir?" said Sam, in a loud whisper,
as soon as he recovered from the surprise consequent upon the
mysterious disappearance of his master.
"I have not hurt _myself_, Sam, certainly," replied Mr. Pickwick, from
the other side of the wall, "but I rather think that _you_ have hurt
me."
"I hope not, sir," said Sam.
"Never mind," said Mr. Pickwick, rising, "it's nothing but a few
scratches. Go away, or we shall be overheard."
"Good-bye, sir."
"Good-bye."
With stealthy step, Sam Weller departed, leaving Mr. Pickwick alone in
the garden.
Lights occasionally appeared in the different windows of the house, or
glanced from the staircases, as if the inmates were retiring to rest.
Not caring to go too near the door, until the appointed time, Mr.
Pickwick crouched into an angle of the wall, and awaited its arrival.
It was a situation which might well have depressed the spirits of many
a man. Mr. Pickwick, however, felt neither depression nor misgiving.
He knew that his purpose was in the main a good one, and he placed
implicit reliance on the high-minded Job. It was dull, certainly; not
to say dreary; but a contemplative man can always employ himself in
meditation. Mr. Pickwick had meditated himself into a doze, when he
was roused by the chimes of the neighbouring church ringing out the
hour--half-past eleven.
"That is the time," thought Mr. Pickwick, getting cautiously on his
feet. He looked up at the house. The lights had disappeared, and the
shutters were closed--all in bed, no doubt. He walked on tip-toe to
the door, and gave a gentle tap. Two or three minutes passing without
any reply, he gave another tap rather louder, and then another rather
louder than that.
At length the sound of feet was audible upon the stairs, and then the
light of a candle shone through the key-hole of the door. There was a
good deal of unchaining and unbolting, and the door was slowly opened.
Now the door opened outwards: and as the door opened wider and
wider, Mr. Pickwick receded behind it, more and more. What was his
astonishment when he just peeped out, by way of caution, to see that
the person who had opened it was--not Job Trotter, but a servant-girl
with a candle in her hand! Mr. Pickwick drew in his head again, with
the swiftness displayed by that admirable melodramatic performer,
Punch, when he lies in wait for the flat-headed comedian with the tin
box of music.
"It must have been the cat, Sarah," said the girl, addressing herself
to some one in the house. "Puss, puss, puss,--tit, tit, tit."
But no animal being decoyed by these blandishments, the girl slowly
closed the door, and re-fastened it; leaving Mr. Pickwick drawn up
straight against the wall.
"This is very curious," thought Mr. Pickwick. "They are sitting up
beyond their usual hour, I suppose. Extremely unfortunate, that
they should have chosen this night, of all others, for such a
purpose--exceedingly." And with these thoughts, Mr. Pickwick cautiously
retired to the angle of the wall in which he had been before ensconced;
waiting until such time as he might deem it safe to repeat the signal.
He had not been here five minutes, when a vivid flash of lightning was
followed by a loud peal of thunder that crashed and rolled away in the
distance with a terrific noise--then came another flash of lightning,
brighter than the other, and a second peal of thunder, louder than the
first; and then down came the rain, with a force and fury that swept
everything before it.
Mr. Pickwick was perfectly aware that a tree is a very dangerous
neighbour in a thunderstorm. He had a tree on his right, a tree on his
left, a third before him, and a fourth behind. If he remained where he
was, he might fall the victim of an accident; if he showed himself in
the centre of the garden, he might be consigned to a constable;--once
or twice he tried to scale the wall, but having no other legs this
time, than those with which Nature had furnished him, the only effect
of his struggles was to inflict a variety of very unpleasant gratings
on his knees and shins, and to throw him into a state of the most
profuse perspiration.
"What a dreadful situation!" said Mr. Pickwick, pausing to wipe his
brow after this exercise. He looked up at the house--all was dark. They
must be gone to bed now. He would try the signal again.
He walked on tip-toe across the moist gravel, and tapped at the door.
He held his breath, and listened at the key-hole. No reply: very odd.
Another knock. He listened again. There was a low whispering inside,
and then a voice cried--
"Who's there?"
"That's not Job," thought Mr. Pickwick, hastily drawing himself
straight up against the wall again. "It's a woman."
He had scarcely had time to form this conclusion when a window above
stairs was thrown up, and three or four female voices repeated the
query--"Who's there?"
[Illustration: "_Who's there?_" _screamed a numerous chorus of treble
voices_]
Mr. Pickwick dared not move hand or foot. It was clear that the whole
establishment was roused. He made up his mind to remain where he was,
until the alarm had subsided: and then by a supernatural effort, to get
over the wall, or perish in the attempt.
Like all Mr. Pickwick's determinations, this was the best that could be
made under the circumstances; but, unfortunately, it was founded upon
the assumption that they would not venture to open the door again. What
was his discomfiture, when he heard the chain and bolts withdrawn, and
saw the door slowly opening, wider and wider! He retreated into the
corner, step by step; but do what he would, the interposition of his
own person prevented its being opened to its utmost width.
"Who's there?" screamed a numerous chorus of treble voices from the
staircase inside, consisting of the spinster lady of the establishment,
three teachers, five female servants, and thirty boarders, all
half-dressed, and in a forest of curl-papers.
Of course Mr. Pickwick didn't say who _was_ there: and then the burden
of the chorus changed into--"Lor'! I am so frightened."
"Cook," said the lady abbess, who took care to be on the top stair, the
very last of the group--"Cook, why don't you go a little way into the
garden?"
"Please, ma'am, I don't like," responded the cook.
"Lor', what a stupid thing that cook is!" said the thirty boarders.
"Cook," said the lady abbess, with great dignity; "don't answer me, if
you please. I insist upon your looking into the garden immediately."
Here the cook began to cry, and the housemaid said it was "a shame!"
for which partisanship she received a month's warning on the spot.
"Do you hear, cook?" said the lady abbess, stamping her foot
impatiently.
"Don't you hear your missis, cook?" said the three teachers.
"What an impudent thing that cook is!" said the thirty boarders.
The unfortunate cook, thus strongly urged, advanced a step or two, and
holding her candle just where it prevented her from seeing anything at
all, declared there was nothing there, and it must have been the wind.
The door was just going to be closed in consequence when an inquisitive
boarder, who had been peeping between the hinges, set up a fearful
screaming, which called back the cook and the housemaid, and all the
more adventurous, in no time.
"What is the matter with Miss Smithers?" said the lady abbess, as the
aforesaid Miss Smithers proceeded to go into hysterics of four young
lady power.
"Lor', Miss Smithers dear," said the other nine-and-twenty boarders.
"Oh, the man--the man--behind the door!" screamed Miss Smithers.
The lady abbess no sooner heard this appalling cry, than she
retreated to her own bed-room, double-locked the door, and fainted
away comfortably. The boarders, and the teachers, and the servants,
fell back upon the stairs, and upon each other; and never was such
a screaming, and fainting, and struggling beheld. In the midst of
the tumult, Mr. Pickwick emerged from his concealment, and presented
himself amongst them.
"Ladies--dear ladies," said Mr. Pickwick.
"Oh, he says we're dear," cried the oldest and ugliest teacher. "Oh the
wretch!"
"Ladies!" roared Mr. Pickwick, rendered desperate by the danger of his
situation. "Hear me. I am no robber. I want the lady of the house."
"Oh, what a ferocious monster," screamed another teacher. "He wants
Miss Tomkins."
Here there was a general scream.
"Ring the alarm bell, somebody!" cried a dozen voices.
"Don't--don't!" shouted Mr. Pickwick. "Look at me. Do I look like a
robber? My dear ladies--you may bind me hand and leg, or lock me up in
a closet, if you like. Only hear what I have got to say--only hear me."
"How did you come in our garden?" faltered the housemaid.
"Call the lady of the house, and I'll tell her everything--everything:"
said Mr. Pickwick, exerting his lungs to the utmost pitch. "Call
her--only be quiet, and call her, and you shall hear everything."
It might have been Mr. Pickwick's appearance, or it might have been
his manner, or it might have been the temptation--irresistible to a
female mind--of hearing something at present enveloped in mystery, that
reduced the more reasonable portion of the establishment (some four
individuals) to a state of comparative quiet. By them it was proposed,
as a test of Mr. Pickwick's sincerity, that he should immediately
submit to personal restraint; and that gentleman having consented to
hold a conference with Miss Tomkins, from the interior of a closet
in which the day boarders hung their bonnets and sandwich-bags, he at
once stepped into it, of his own accord, and was securely locked in.
This revived the others; and Miss Tomkins having been brought to, and
brought down, the conference began.
"What did you do in my garden, Man?" said Miss Tomkins, in a faint
voice.
"I came to warn you, that one of your young ladies was going to elope
to-night," replied Mr. Pickwick, from the interior of the closet.
"Elope!" exclaimed Miss Tomkins, the three teachers, the thirty
boarders, and the five servants. "Who with?"
"Your friend, Mr. Charles Fitz-Marshall."
"_My_ friend! I don't know any such person."
"Well! Mr. Jingle, then."
"I never heard the name in my life."
"Then, I have been deceived, and deluded," said Mr. Pickwick. "I have
been the victim of a conspiracy--a foul and base conspiracy. Send to
the Angel, my dear ma'am, if you don't believe me. Send to the Angel
for Mr. Pickwick's man-servant, I implore you, ma'am."
"He must be respectable--he keeps a man-servant," said Miss Tomkins to
the writing and ciphering governess.
"It is my opinion, Miss Tomkins," said the writing and ciphering
governess, "that his man-servant keeps him. _I_ think he's a madman,
Miss Tomkins, and the other's his keeper."
"I think you are very right, Miss Gwynn," responded Miss Tomkins. "Let
two of the servants repair to the Angel, and let the others remain here
to protect us."
So two of the servants were despatched to the Angel in search of Mr.
Samuel Weller: and the remaining three stopped behind to protect Miss
Tomkins, and the three teachers, and the thirty boarders. And Mr.
Pickwick sat down in the closet, beneath a grove of sandwich bags,
and awaited the return of the messengers, with all the philosophy and
fortitude he could summon to his aid.
An hour and a half elapsed before they came back, and when they did
come, Mr. Pickwick recognised, in addition to the voice of Mr. Samuel
Weller, two other voices, the tones of which struck familiarly on his
ear; but whose they were, he could not for the life of him call to mind.
A very brief conversation ensued. The door was unlocked. Mr. Pickwick
stepped out of the closet, and found himself in the presence of the
whole establishment of Westgate House, Mr. Samuel Weller, and--old
Wardle, and his destined son-in-law, Mr. Trundle!
"My dear friend," said Mr. Pickwick, running forward and grasping
Wardle's hand, "my dear friend, pray, for Heaven's sake, explain to
this lady the unfortunate and dreadful situation in which I am placed.
You must have heard it from my servant; say at all events, my dear
fellow, that I am neither a robber nor a madman."
"I have said so, my dear friend. I have said so already," replied Mr.
Wardle, shaking the right hand of his friend, while Mr. Trundle shook
the left.
"And whoever says, or has said, he is," interposed Mr. Weller, stepping
forward, "says that which is not the truth, but so far from it, on
the contrary, quite the rewerse. And if there's any number o' men on
these here premises as has said so, I shall be wery happy to give 'em
all a wery convincing proof o' their being mistaken, in this here wery
room, if these wery respectable ladies 'll have the goodness to retire,
and order 'em up, one at a time." Having delivered this defiance with
great volubility, Mr. Weller struck his open palm emphatically with his
clenched fist, and winked pleasantly on Miss Tomkins: the intensity of
whose horror at his supposing it within the bounds of possibility that
there could be any men on the premises of Westgate House Establishment
for Young Ladies, it is impossible to describe.
Mr. Pickwick's explanation having already been partially made, was soon
concluded. But neither in the course of his walk home with his friends,
nor afterwards when seated before a blazing fire at the supper he so
much needed, could a single observation be drawn from him. He seemed
bewildered and amazed. Once, and only once, he turned round to Mr.
Wardle and said--
"How did you come here?"
"Trundle and I came down here, for some good shooting on the first,"
replied Wardle. "We arrived to-night, and were astonished to hear from
your servant that you were here too. But I am glad you are," said the
old fellow, slapping him on the back. "I am glad you are. We shall have
a jovial party on the first, and we'll give Winkle another chance--eh,
old boy?"
Mr. Pickwick made no reply; he did not even ask after his friends at
Dingley Dell, and shortly afterwards retired for the night, desiring
Sam to fetch his candle when he rung.
The bell did ring in due course, and Mr. Weller presented himself.
"Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, looking out from under the bed-clothes.
"Sir?" said Mr. Weller.
Mr. Pickwick paused, and Mr. Weller snuffed the candle.
"Sam," said Mr. Pickwick again, as with a desperate effort.
"Sir?" said Mr. Weller, once more.
"Where is that Trotter?"
"Job, sir?"
"Yes."
"Gone, sir."
"With his master, I suppose?"
"Friend or master, or whatever he is, he's gone with him," replied Mr.
Weller. "There's a pair on 'em, sir."
"Jingle suspected my design, and set that fellow on you, with this
story, I suppose?" said Mr. Pickwick, half choking.
"Just that, sir," replied Mr. Weller.
"It was all false, of course?"
"All, sir," replied Mr. Weller. "Reg'lar do, sir; artful dodge."
"I don't think he'll escape us quite so easily the next time, Sam?"
said Mr. Pickwick.
"I don't think he will, sir."
"Whenever I meet that Jingle again, wherever it is," said Mr. Pickwick,
raising himself in bed, and indenting his pillow with a tremendous
blow, "I'll inflict personal chastisement on him, in addition to the
exposure he so richly merits. I will, or my name is not Pickwick."
"And venever I catches hold o' that there melan-cholly chap with the
black hair," said Sam, "if I don't bring some real water into his eyes,
for once in a way, my name an't Veller. Good night, sir!"