"Jorrocks's France, in three wolumes, would sound werry well," observed
our worthy citizen, one afternoon, to his confidential companion the
Yorkshireman, as they sat in the veranda in Coram Street, eating red
currants and sipping cold whiskey punch; "and I thinks I could make
something of it. They tells me that at the 'west end' the booksellers
will give forty pounds for anything that will run into three wolumes,
and one might soon pick up as much matter as would stretch into that
quantity."
The above observation was introduced in a long conversation between Mr.
Jorrocks and his friend, relative to an indignity that had been offered
him by the rejection by the editor of a sporting periodical of a long
treatise on eels, which, independently of the singularity of diction,
had become so attenuated in the handling, as to have every appearance of
filling three whole numbers of the work; and Mr. Jorrocks had determined
to avenge the insult by turning author on his own account. The
Yorkshireman, ever ready for amusement, cordially supported Mr. Jorrocks
in his views, and a bargain was soon struck between them, the main
stipulations of which were, that Mr. Jorrocks should find cash, and the
Yorkshireman should procure information.
Accordingly, on the Saturday after, the nine o'clock Dover heavy drew up
at the "Bricklayers' Arms," with Mr. Jorrocks on the box seat, and the
Yorkshireman imbedded among the usual heterogeneous assembly--soldiers,
sailors, Frenchmen, fishermen, ladies' maids, and footmen--that compose
the cargo of these coaches. Here they were assailed with the usual
persecution from the tribe of Israel, in the shape of a hundred
merchants, proclaiming the virtues of their wares; one with black-lead
pencils, twelve a shilling, with an invitation to "cut 'em and try 'em";
another with a good pocket-knife, "twelve blades and saw, sir"; a third,
with a tame squirrel and a piping bullfinch, that could whistle _God
save the King_ and the _White Cockade_--to be given for an old coat.
"Buy a silver guard-chain for your vatch, sir!" cried a dark eyed
urchin, mounting the fore-wheel, and holding a bunch of them in Mr.
Jorrocks's face; "buy pocket-book, memorandum-book!" whined another.
"Keepsake--Forget-me-not--all the last year's annuals at half-price!"
"Sponge cheap, sponge! take a piece, sir--take a piece." "Patent leather
straps." "Barcelona nuts. Slippers. _Morning Hurl (Herald)._ Rhubarb.
'Andsome dog-collar, sir, cheap!--do to fasten your wife up with!"
"Stand clear, ye warmints!" cries the coachman, elbowing his way among
them--and, remounting the box, he takes the whip and reins out of Mr.
Jorrocks's hands, cries "All right behind? sit tight!" and off they go.
The day was fine, and the hearts of all seemed light and gay. The coach,
though slow, was clean and smart, the harness bright and well-polished,
while the sleek brown horses poked their heads about at ease, without
the torture of the bearing-rein. The coachman, like his vehicle, was
heavy, and had he been set on all fours, a party of six might have eat
off his back. Thus they proceeded at a good steady substantial sort of
pace; trotting on level ground, walking up hills, and dragging down
inclines. Nor among the whole party was there a murmur of discontent at
the pace. Most of the passengers seemed careless which way they went, so
long as they did but move, and they rolled through the Garden of England
with the most stoical indifference. We know not whether it has ever
struck the reader, but the travellers by Dover coaches are less captious
about pace than those on most others.
And now let us fancy our friends up, and down, Shooter's Hill, through
Dartford, Northfleet, and Gravesend--at which latter place, the first
foreign symptom appears, in words, "Poste aux Chevaux," on the door-post
of the inn; and let us imagine them bowling down Rochester Hill at a
somewhat amended pace, with the old castle, by the river Medway, the
towns of Chatham, Strood and Rochester full before them, and the finely
wooded country extending round in pleasing variety of hill and dale.
As they reach the foot of the hill, the guard commences a solo on his
bugle, to give notice to the innkeeper to have the coach dinner on the
table. All huddled together, inside and out, long passengers and short
ones, they cut across the bridge, rattle along the narrow street,
sparking the mud from the newly-watered streets on the shop windows and
passengers on each side, and pull up at the "Pig and Crossbow," with a
jerk and a dash as though they had been travelling at the rate of
twelve miles an hour. Two other coaches are "dining," while some few
passengers, whose "hour is not yet come," sit patiently on the roof, or
pace up and down the street with short and hurried turns, anxious to see
the horses brought out that are to forward them on their journey. And
what a commotion this new arrival creates! From the arched doorway of
the inn issue two chamber-maids, one in curls the other in a cap; Boots,
with both curls and a cap, and a ladder in his hand; a knock-kneed
waiter, with a dirty duster, to count noses, while the neat landlady,
in a spruce black silk gown and clean white apron, stands smirking,
smiling, and rubbing her hands down her sides, inveigling the passengers
into the house, where she will turn them over to the waiters to take
their chance the instant she gets them in. About the door the usual
idlers are assembled.--A coachman out of place, a beggar out at the
elbows, a sergeant in uniform, and three recruits with ribbons in their
hats; a captain with his boots cut for corns, the coachman that is to
drive to Dover, a youth in a straw hat and a rowing shirt, the little
inquisitive old man of the place--who sees all the midday coaches change
horses, speculates on the passengers and sees who the parcels are
for--and, though last but not least, Mr. Bangup, the "varmint" man, the
height of whose ambition is to be taken for a coachman. As the coach
pulled up, he was in the bar taking a glass of cold sherry "without"
and a cigar, which latter he brings out lighted in his mouth, with his
shaved white hat stuck knowingly on one side, and the thumbs of his
brown hands thrust into the arm-holes of his waistcoat, throwing back
his single breasted fancy buttoned green coat, and showing a cream
coloured cravat, fastened with a gold coach-and-four pin, which, with a
buff waistcoat and tight drab trousers buttoning over the boot, complete
his "toggery," as he would call it. His whiskers are large and riotous
in the extreme, while his hair is clipped as close as a charity
schoolboy's. The coachman and he are on the best of terms, as the
outward twist of their elbows and jerks of the head on meeting testify.
His conversation is short and slangy, accompanied with the correct nasal
twang. After standing and blowing a few puffs, during which time the
passengers have all alighted, and the coachman has got through the thick
of his business, he takes the cigar out of his mouth, and, spitting on
the flags, addresses his friend with, "Y've got the old near-side leader
back from Joe, I see." "Yes, Mr. Bangup, yes," replies his friend, "but
I had some work first--our gov'rnor was all for the change--at last,
says I to our 'osskeeper, says I, it arn't no use your harnessing that
'ere roan for me any more, for as how I von't drive him, so it's not to
no use harnessing of him, for I von't be gammon'd out of my team not by
none on them, therefore it arn't to never no use harnessing of him again
for me." "So you did 'em," observes Mr. Bangup. "Lord bless ye, yes! it
warn't to no use aggravising about it, for says I, I von't stand it, so
it warn't to no manner of use harnessing of him again for me." "Come,
Smith, what are you chaffing there about?" inquires the landlord, coming
out with the wide-spread way-bill in his hands, "have you two insides?"
"No, gov'rnor, I has but von, and that's precious empty, haw! haw! haw!"
"Well, but now get Brown to blow his horn early, and you help to hurry
the passengers away from my grub, and may be I'll give you your dinner
for your trouble," replies the landlord, reckoning he would save both
his meat and his horses by the experiment. "Ay, there goes the dinner!"
added he, just as Mr. Jorrocks's voice was heard inside the "Pig and
Crossbow," giving a most tremendous roar for his food.--"Pork at the
top, and pork at the bottom," the host observes to the waiter in
passing, "and mind, put the joints before the women--they are slow
carvers."
While the foregoing scene was enacting outside, our travellers had been
driven through the passage into a little, dark, dingy room at the back
of the house, with a dirty, rain-bespattered window, looking against a
whitewashed blank wall. The table, which was covered with a thrice-used
cloth, was set out with lumps of bread, knives, and two and three
pronged forks laid alternately. Altogether it was anything but inviting,
but coach passengers are very complacent; and on the Dover road it
matters little if they are not. The bustle of preparation was soon over.
Coats No. 1, No. 2, and No. 3, are taken off in succession, for some
people wear top-coats to keep out the "heat"; chins are released from
their silken jeopardy, hats are hid in corners, and fur caps thrust
into pockets of the owners. Inside passengers eye outside ones with
suspicion, while a deaf gentleman, who has left his trumpet in the
coach, meets an acquaintance whom he has not seen for seven years,
and can only shake hands and grin to the movements of the lips of the
speaker. "You find it very warm inside, I should think, sir?" "Thank
ye, thank ye, my good friend; I'm rayther deaf, but I presume you're
inquiring after my wife and daughters--they are very well, I thank ye."
"Where will you sit at dinner?" rejoins the first speaker, in hopes of a
more successful hit. "It is two years since I saw him." "No; where
will you sit, sir? I said." "Oh, John? I beg your pardon--I'm rayther
deaf--he's in Jamaica with his regiment." "Come, waiter, BRING DINNER!"
roared Mr. Jorrocks, at the top of his voice, being the identical shout
that was heard outside, and presently the two dishes of pork, a couple
of ducks, and a lump of half-raw, sadly mangled, cold roast beef, with
waxy potatoes and overgrown cabbages, were scattered along the table.
"What a beastly dinner!" exclaims an inside dandy, in a sable-collared
frock-coat--"the whole place reeks with onions and vulgarity. Waiter,
bring me a silver fork!" "Allow me to duck you, ma'am?" inquires an
outside passenger, in a facetious tone, of a female in a green silk
cloak, as he turns the duck over in the dish. "Thank you, sir, but I've
some pork coming." "Will you take some of this thingumbob?" turning a
questionable-looking pig's countenance over in its pewter bed. "You are
in considerable danger, my friend--you are in considerable danger,"
drawls forth the superfine insider to an outsider opposite. "How's
that?" inquires the former in alarm. "Why, you are eating with your
knife, and you are in considerable danger of cutting your mouth".--What
is the matter at the far end of the table?--a lady in russet brown, with
a black velvet bonnet and a feather, in convulsions. "She's choking by
Jove! hit her on the back--gently, gently--she's swallowed a fish-bone."
"I'll lay five to two she dies," cries Mr. Bolus, the sporting doctor of
Sittingbourne. She coughs--up comes a couple of tooth-picks, she having
drunk off a green glass of them in mistake.
"Now hark'e, waiter! there's the guard blowing his horn, and we have
scarcely had a bite apiece," cries Mr. Jorrocks, as that functionary
sounded his instrument most energetically in the passage; "blow me
tight, if I stir before the full half-hour's up, so he may blow till
he's black in the face." "Take some cheese, sir?" inquires the waiter.
"No, surely not, some more pork, and then some tarts". "Sorry, sir,
we have no tarts we can recommend. Cheese is partiklar good." [Enter
coachman, peeled down to a more moderate-sized man.]
"Leaves ye here, if you please, sur." "With all my heart, my good
friend." "Please to remember the coachman--driv ye thirty miles." "Yes,
but you'll recollect how saucy you were about my wife's bonnet-box
there's sixpence between us for you." "Oh, sur! I'm sure I didn't mean
no unpurliteness. I 'opes you'll forget it; it was werry aggravising,
certainly, but driv ye thirty miles. 'Opes you'll give a trifle more,
thirty miles." "No, no, no more; so be off." "Please to remember the
coachman, ma'am, thirty miles!" "Leaves ye here, sir, if you please;
goes no further, sir; thirty miles, ma'am; all the vay from Lunnun,
sir."
A loud flourish on the bugle caused the remainder of the gathering to
be made in dumb show, and having exhausted his wind, the guard squeezed
through the door, and, with an extremely red face, assured the company
that "time was hup" and the "coach quite ready." Then out came the
purses, brown, green, and blue, with the usual inquiry, "What's dinner,
waiter?" "Two and six, dinner, beer, three,--two and nine yours,"
replied the knock-kneed caitiff to the first inquirer, pushing
a blue-and-white plate under his nose; "yours is three and six,
ma'am;--two glasses of brandy-and-water, four shillings, if you please
sir--a bottle of real Devonshire cider."--"You must change me a
sovereign," handing one out. "Certainly, sir," upon which the waiter,
giving it a loud ring upon the table, ran out of the room. "Now,
gentlemen and ladies! pray, come, time's hup--carn't wait--must
go"--roars the guard, as the passengers shuffle themselves into their
coats, cloaks, and cravats, and Joe "Boots" runs up the passage with the
ladder for the lady. "Now, my dear Mrs. Sprat, good-bye.--God bless you,
and remember me most kindly to your husband and dear little ones --and
pray, write soon," says an elderly lady, as she hugs and kisses a
youngish one at the door, who has been staying with her for a week,
during which time they have quarrelled regularly every night. "Have you
all your things, dearest? three boxes, five parcels, an umbrella, a
parasol, the cage for Tommy's canary, and the bundle in the red silk
handkerchief--then good-bye, my beloved, step up--and now, Mr. Guard,
you know where to set her down." "Good-bye, dearest Mrs. Jackson, all
right, thank you," replies Mrs. Sprat, stepping up the ladder, and
adjusting herself in the gammon board opposite the guard, the seat the
last comer generally gets.--"But stay! I've forgot my reticule--it's on
the drawers in the bedroom--stop, coachman! I say, guard!" "Carn't wait,
ma'am--time's hup"--and just at this moment a two-horse coach is
heard stealing up the street, upon which the coachman calls to the
horse-keepers to "stand clear with their cloths, and take care no one
pays them twice over," gives a whistling hiss to his leaders, the double
thong to his wheelers, and starts off at a trot, muttering something
about, "cuss'd pair-'oss coach,--convict-looking passengers," observing
confidentially to Mr. Jorrocks, as he turned the angle of the street,
"that he would rather be hung off a long stage, than die a natural death
on a short one," while the guard drowns the voices of the lady who has
left her reticule, and of the gentleman who has got no change for his
sovereign, in a hearty puff of:
Rule Britannia,--Britannia rule the waves.
Britons, never, never, never, shall be slaves!
Blithely and merrily, like all coach passengers after feeding, our
party rolled steadily along, with occasional gibes at those they met or
passed, such as telling waggoners their linch-pins were out; carters'
mates, there were nice pocket-knives lying on the road; making urchins
follow the coach for miles by holding up shillings and mock parcels; or
simple equestrians dismount in a jiffy on telling them their horses'
shoes were not all on "before." [19] Towards the decline of the day,
Dover heights appeared in view, with the stately castle guarding the
Channel, which seen through the clear atmosphere of an autumnal evening,
with the French coast conspicuous in the distance, had more the
appearance of a wide river than a branch of the sea.
[Footnote 19: This is more of a hunting-field joke than a road one. "Have
I all my shoes on?" "They are not all on before."]
The coachman mended his pace a little, as he bowled along the gentle
descents or rounded the base of some lofty hill, and pulling up at
Lydden took a glass of soda-water and brandy, while four strapping
greys, with highly-polished, richly-plated harness, and hollyhocks
at their heads, were put to, to trot the last few miles into Dover.
Paying-time being near, the guard began to do the amiable--hoped Mrs.
Sprat had ridden comfortable; and the coachman turned to the gentleman
whose sovereign was left behind to assure him he would bring his change
the next day, and was much comforted by the assurance that he was on his
way to Italy for the winter. As the coach approached Charlton Gate, the
guard flourished his bugle and again struck up _Rule Britannia_, which
lasted the whole breadth of the market-place, and length of Snargate
Street, drawing from Mr. Muddle's shop the few loiterers who yet
remained, and causing Mr. Le Plastrier, the patriotic moth-impaler, to
suspend the examination of the bowels of a watch, as they rattled past
his window.
At the door of the "Ship Hotel" the canary-coloured coach of Mr. Wright,
the landlord, with four piebald horses, was in waiting for him to take
his evening drive, and Mrs. Wright's pony phaeton, with a neat tiger in
a blue frock-coat and leathers, was also stationed behind to convey
her a few miles on the London road. Of course the equipages of such
important personages could not be expected to move for a common
stage-coach, consequently it pulled up a few yards from the door. It is
melancholy to think that so much spirit should have gone unrewarded,
or in other words, that Mr. Wright should have gone wrong in his
affairs.--Mrs. Ramsbottom said she never understood the meaning of the
term, "The Crown, and Bill of Rights (Wright's)," until she went to
Rochester. Many people, we doubt not, retain a lively recollection of
the "bill of Wright's of Dover." But to our travellers.
"Now, sir! this be Dover, that be the Ship, I be the coachman, and
we goes no further," observed the amphibious-looking coachman, in a
pea-jacket and top-boots, to Mr. Jorrocks, who still kept his seat on
the box, as if he expected, that because they booked people "through
to Paris," at the coach office in London, that the vehicle crossed the
Channel and conveyed them on the other side. At this intimation, Mr.
Jorrocks clambered down, and was speedily surrounded by touts and
captains of vessels soliciting his custom. "_Bonjour,_ me Lor'," said
a gaunt French sailor in ear-rings, and a blue-and-white jersey shirt,
taking off a red nightcap with mock politeness, "you shall be cross."
"What's that about?" inquires Mr. Jorrocks--"cross! what does the chap
mean?" "Ten shillin', just, me Lor'," replied the man. "Cross for ten
shillings," muttered Mr. Jorrocks, "vot does the Mouncheer mean? Hope he
hasn't picked my pocket." "I--you--vill," said the sailor slowly, using
his fingers to enforce his meaning, "take to France," pointing south,
"for ten shillin' in my _bateau_, me Lor," continued the sailor, with
a grin of satisfaction as he saw Mr. Jorrocks began to comprehend
him. "Ah! I twig--you'll take me across the water." said our citizen
chuckling at the idea of understanding French and being called a
Lord--"for ten shillings--half-sovereign in fact." "Don't go with him,
sir," interrupted a Dutch-built English tar; "he's got nothing but a
lousy lugger that will be all to-morrow in getting over, if it ever gets
at all; and the _Royal George_, superb steamer, sails with a King's
Messenger and dispatches for all the foreign courts at half-past ten,
and must be across by twelve, whether it can or not." "Please take a
card for the _Brocklebank_--quickest steamer out of Dover--wind's made
expressly to suit her, and she can beat the _Royal George_ like winking.
Passengers never sick in the most uproarious weather," cried another
tout, running the corner of his card into Mr. Jorrocks's eye to engage
his attention. Then came the captain of the French mail-packet, who was
dressed much like a new policeman, with an embroidered collar to his
coat, and a broad red band round a forage cap which he raised with
great politeness, as he entreated Mr. Jorrocks's patronage of his
high-pressure engine, "vich had beat a balloon, and vod take him for
half less than noting." A crowd collected, in the centre of which stood
Mr. Jorrocks perfectly unmoved, with his wig awry and his carpet-bag
under his arm. "Gentlemen," said he, extending his right hand, "you
seem to me to be desperately civil--your purliteness appears to know no
bounds--but, to be candid with you, I beg to say that whoever will carry
me across the herring pond cheapest shall have my custom, so now
begin and bid downwards." "Nine shillings," said an Englishman
directly--"eight" replied a Frenchman--"seven and sixpence"--"seven
shillings"--"six and sixpence"--"six shillings"--"five and sixpence"; at
last it came down to five shillings, at which there were two bidders,
the French captain and the tout of the _Royal George_,--and Mr.
Jorrocks, like a true born Briton, promised his patronage to the latter,
at which the Frenchmen shrugged up their shoulders, and burst out
a-laughing, one calling him, "my Lor' Ros-bif," and the other "Monsieur
God-dem," as they walked off in search of other victims.
None but the natives of Dover can tell what the weather is, unless the
wind comes directly off the sea, and it was not until Mr. Jorrocks
proceeded to embark after breakfast the next morning, that he
ascertained there was a heavy swell on, so quiet had the heights kept
the gambols of Boreas. Three steamers were simmering into action on
the London-hotel side of the harbour, in one of which--the _Royal
George_--two britzkas and a barouche were lashed ready for sea, while
the custom-house porters were trundling barrows full of luggage
under the personal superintendence of a little shock-headed French
commissionnaire of Mr. Wright's in a gold-laced cap, and the other
gentry of the same profession from the different inns. As the _Royal
George_ lay nearly level with the quay, Mr. Jorrocks stepped on board
without troubling himself to risk his shins among the steps of a ladder
that was considerately thrust into the place of embarkation; and as soon
as he set foot upon deck, of course he was besieged by the usual myriad
of land sharks. First came Monsieur the Commissionnaire with his book,
out of which he enumerated two portmanteaus and two carpet-bags, for
each of which he made a specific charge leaving his own gratuity
optional with his employer; then came Mr. Boots to ask for something for
showing them the way; after him the porter of the inn for carrying their
cloaks and great-coats, all of which Mr. Jorrocks submitted to, most
philosophically, but when the interpreter of the deaf and dumb ladder
man demanded something for the use of the ladder, his indignation got
the better of him and he exclaimed loud enough to be heard by all on
deck, "Surely you wouldn't charge a man for what he has not enjoyed!"
A voyage is to many people like taking an emetic--they look at the
medicine and wish it well over, and look at the sea and wish themselves
well over. Everything looked bright and gay at Dover--the cliffs seemed
whiter than ever--the sailors had on clean trousers, and the few people
that appeared in the streets were dressed in their Sunday best. The
cart-horses were seen feeding leisurely on the hills, and there was a
placid calmness about everything on shore, which the travellers would
fain have had extended to the sea. They came slowly and solemnly upon
deck, muffled up in cloaks and coats, some with their passage money in
their hands, and took their places apparently with the full expectation
of being sick.
The French packet-boat first gave symptoms of animation, in the shape
of a few vigorous puffs from the boiler, which were responded to by the
_Royal George_, whose rope was slipped without the usual tinkle of the
bell, and she shot out to sea, closely followed by the Frenchman, who
was succeeded by the other English boat. Three or four tremendous long
protracted dives, each followed by a majestic rise on the bosom of the
waves, denoted the crossing of the bar; and just as the creaking of the
cordage, the flapping of the sails, and the nervous quivering of the
paddles, as they lost their hold of the water, were in full vigour, the
mate crossed the deck with a large white basin in his hand, the sight of
which turned the stomachs of half the passengers. Who shall describe the
misery that ensued? The groans and moans of the sufferers, increasing
every minute, as the vessel heaved and dived, and rolled and creaked,
while hand-basins multiplied as half-sick passengers caught the green
countenance and fixed eye of some prostrate sufferer and were overcome
themselves.
Mr. Jorrocks, what with his Margate trips, and a most substantial
breakfast of beef-steaks and porter, tea, eggs, muffins, prawns, and
fried ham, held out as long as anybody--indeed, at one time the odds
were that he would not be sick at all; and he kept walking up and down
deck like a true British tar. In one of his turns he was observed to
make a full stop.--Immediately before the boiler his eye caught a
cadaverous-looking countenance that rose between the top of a blue
camlet cloak, and the bottom of a green travelling-cap, with a large
patent-leather peak; he was certain that he knew it, and, somehow or
other, he thought, not favourably. The passenger was in that happy mood
just debating whether he should hold out against sickness any longer,
or resign himself unreservedly to its horrors, when Mr. Jorrocks's eye
encountered his, and the meeting did not appear to contribute to his
happiness. Mr. Jorrocks paused and looked at him steadily for some
seconds, during which time his thoughts made a rapid cast over his
memory. "Sergeant Bumptious, by gum!" exclaimed he, giving his thigh
a hearty slap, as the deeply indented pock-marks on the learned
gentleman's face betrayed his identity. "Sergeant," said he, going up to
him, "I'm werry 'appy to see ye--may be in the course of your practice
at Croydon you've heard that there are more times than one to catch a
thief." "Who are you?" inquired the sergeant with a growl, just at which
moment the boat gave a roll, and he wound up the inquiry by a donation
to the fishes. "Who am I?" replied Mr. Jorrocks, as soon as he was done,
"I'll soon tell ye that--I'm Mr. JORROCKS! Jorrocks wersus Cheatum, in
fact--now that you have got your bullying toggery off, I'll be 'appy to
fight ye either by land or sea." "Oh-h-h-h!" groaned the sergeant at the
mention of the latter word, and thereupon he put his head over the boat
and paid his second subscription. Mr. Jorrocks stood eyeing him, and
when the sergeant recovered, he observed with apparent mildness and
compassion, "Now, my dear sergeant, to show ye that I can return good
for evil, allow me to fatch you a nice 'ot mutton chop!" "Oh-h-h-h-h!"
groaned the sergeant, as though he would die. "Or perhaps you'd prefer
a cut of boiled beef with yellow fat, and a dab of cabbage?" an
alternative which was too powerful for the worthy citizen himself--for,
like Sterne with his captive, he had drawn a picture that his own
imagination could not sustain--and, in attempting to reach the side
of the boat, he cascaded over the sergeant, and they rolled over each
other, senseless and helpless upon deck.
"Mew, mew," screamed the seagulls;--"creak, creak," went the
cordage;--"flop, flop," went the sails; round went the white basins, and
the steward with the mop; and few passengers would have cared to have
gone overboard, when, at the end of three hours' misery, the captain
proclaimed that they were running into still water off Boulogne. This
intimation was followed by the collection of the passage money by the
mate, and the jingling of a tin box by the steward, under the noses of
the party, for perquisites for the crew. Jorrocks and the sergeant
lay together like babes in the wood until they were roused by this
operation, when, with a parting growl at his companion, Mr. Jorrocks got
up; and though he had an idea in his own mind that a man had better live
abroad all his life than encounter such misery as he had undergone, for
the purpose of returning to England, he recollected his intended work
upon France, and began to make his observations upon the town of
Boulogne, towards which the vessel was rapidly steaming. "Not half so
fine as Margate," said he; "the houses seem all afraid of the sea, and
turn their ends to it instead of fronting it, except yon great white
place, which I suppose is the baths"; and, taking his hunting telescope
out of his pocket, he stuck out his legs and prepared to make an
observation. "How the people are swarming down to see us!" he exclaimed.
"I see such a load of petticoats--glad Mrs. J---- ain't with us; may
have some fun here, I guess. Dear me, wot lovely women! wot ankles! beat
the English, hollow--would give something to be a single man!" While he
made these remarks, the boat ran up the harbour in good style, to the
evident gratification of the multitude who lined the pier from end to
end, and followed her in her passage. "Ease her! stop her!" at last
cried the captain, as she got opposite a low wooden guard-house, midway
down the port. A few strokes of the paddles sent her up to the quay,
some ropes were run from each end of the guard-house down to the boat,
within which space no one was admitted except about a dozen soldiers or
custom-house officers--in green coats, white trousers, black sugar-loaf
"caps," and having swords by their sides--and some thick-legged
fisherwomen, with long gold ear-rings, to lower the ladder for
disembarkation. The idlers, that is to say, all the inhabitants of
Boulogne, range themselves outside the ropes on foot, horseback, in
carriages, or anyhow, to take the chance of seeing someone they know,
to laugh at the melancholy looks of those who have been sick, and to
criticise the company, who are turned into the guarded space like a
flock of sheep before them.
Mr. Jorrocks, having scaled the ladder, gave himself a hearty and
congratulatory shake on again finding himself on terra firma, and
sticking his hat jauntily on one side, as though he didn't know what
sea-sickness was, proceeded to run his eye along the spectators on one
side of the ropes; when presently he was heard to exclaim, "My vig,
there's Thompson! He owes us a hundred pounds, and has been doing
these three years." And thereupon he bolted up to a fine looking young
fellow--with mustachios, in a hussar foraging cap stuck on one side of
his head, dressed in a black velvet shooting-jacket, and with half a
jeweller's shop about him in the way of chains, brooches, rings and
buttons--who had brought a good-looking bay horse to bear with his chest
against the cords. "Thompson," said Mr. Jorrocks, in a firm tone of
voice, "how are you?" "How do ye do, Mister Jorrocks," drawled out the
latter, taking a cigar from his mouth, and puffing a cloud of smoke over
the grocer's head. "Well, I'm werry well, but I should like to have a
few moments' conversation with you." "Would ye?" said Thompson, blowing
another cloud. "Yes, I would; you remember that 'ere little bill you got
Simpkins to discount for you one day when I was absent; we have had it
by us a long time now, and it is about time you were taking it up." "You
think so, do you, Mister Jorrocks; can't you renew it? I'll give you a
draft on Aldgate pump for the amount." "Come, none of your funning with
me, I've had enough of your nonsense: give me my pewter, or I'll have
that horse from under you; for though it has got the hair rubbed off
its near knee, it will do werry well to carry me with the Surrey
occasionally." "You old fool," said Thompson, "you forget where you are;
if I could pay you your little bill, do you suppose I would be here? You
can't squeeze blood out of a turnip, can ye? But I'll tell you what, my
covey, if I can't give you satisfaction in money, you shall give me the
satisfaction of a gentleman, if you don't take care what you are about,
you old tinker. By Jove, I'll order pistols and coffee for two to-morrow
morning at Napoleon's column, and let the daylight through your carcass
if you utter another syllable about the bill. Why, now, you stare as
Balaam did at his ass, when he found it capable of holding an argument
with him!"
And true enough, Jorrocks was dumbfounded at this sort of reply from a
creditor, it not being at all in accordance with the _Lex mercatoria_,
or law of merchants, and quite unknown on 'Change. Before, however, he
had time to recover his surprise, all the passengers having entered the
roped area, one of the green-coated gentry gave him a polite twist
by the coat-tail, and with a wave of the hand and bend of his body,
beckoned him to proceed with the crowd into the guard-house. After
passing an outer room, they entered the bureau by a door in the middle
of a wooden partition, where two men were sitting with pens ready to
enter the names of the arrivers in ledgers.
"Votre nom et designation?" said one of them to Mr. Jorrocks--who, with
a bad start, had managed to squeeze in first--to which Mr. Jorrocks
shook his head. "Sare, what's your name, sare?" inquired the same
personage. "JORROCKS," was the answer, delivered with great emphasis,
and thereupon the secretary wrote "Shorrock." "--Monsieur Shorrock,"
said he, looking up, "votre profession, Monsieur? Vot you are, sare?" "A
grocer," replied Mr. Jorrocks, which caused a titter from those behind
who meant to sink the shop. "Marchand-Epicier," wrote the bureau-keeper.
"Quel age avez-vous, Monsieur? How old you are, sare?" "Two pound
twelve," replied Mr. Jorrocks, surprised at his inquisitiveness. "No,
sare, not vot monnay you have, sare, hot old you are, sare." "Well, two
pound twelve, fifty-two in fact." Mr. Jorrocks was then passed out,
to take his chance among the touts and commissionaires of the
various hotels, who are enough to pull passengers to pieces in their
solicitations for custom. In Boulogne, however, no man with money is
ever short of friends; and Thompson having given the hint to two
or three acquaintances as he rode up street, there were no end of
broken-down sportsmen, levanters, and gentlemen who live on the interest
of what they owe other people, waiting to receive Mr. Jorrocks. The
greetings on their parts were most cordial and enthusiastic, and even
some who were in his books did not hesitate to hail him; the majority of
the party, however, was composed of those with whom he had at various
tunes and places enjoyed the sports of the field, but whom he had never
missed until they met at Boulogne.
Their inquiries were business-like and familiar:--"are ye, Jorrocks?"
cried one, holding out both hands. "How are ye, my lad of wax? Do you
still play billiards?--Give you nine, and play you for a Nap." "Come
to my house this evening, old boy, and take a hand at whist for old
acquaintance sake," urged the friend on his left; "got some rare
cogniac, and a box of beautiful Havannahs." "No, Jorrocks,--dine with
me," said a third, "and play chicken-hazard." "Don't," said a fourth,
confidentially, "he'll fleece ye like fun". "Let me put your name
down to our Pigeon Club; only a guinea entrance and a guinea
subscription--nothing to a rich man like you." "Have you any coin to
lend on unexceptionable personal security, with a power of killing and
selling your man if he don't pay?" inquired another. "Are they going
to abolish the law of arrest? 'twould be very convenient if they did."
"Will you discount me a bill at three months?" "Is B---- out of the
Bench yet?" "Who do they call Nodding Homer in your hunt?" "Oh,
gentlemen, gentlemen!" cried Mr. Jorrocks, "go it gently, go it gently!
Consider the day is 'ot, I'm almost out of breath, and faint for want of
food. I've come all the way from Angle-tear, as we say in France, and
lost my breakfast on the wogaye. Where is there an inn where I can
recruit my famished frame? What's this?" looking up at a sign, "'Done a
boar in a manger,' what does this mean?--where's my French dictionary?
I've heard that boar is very good to eat." "Yes, but this boar is to
drink," said a friend on the right; "but you must not put up at a house
of that sort; come to the Hôtel d'Orleans, where all the best fellows
and men of consequence go, a celebrated house in the days of the
Boulogne Hunt. Ah, that was the time, Mr. Jorrocks! we lived like
fighting-cocks then; you should have been among us, such a rollicking
set of dogs! could hunt all day, race maggots and drink claret all
night, and take an occasional by-day with the hounds on a Sunday. Can't
do that with the Surrey, I guess. There's the Hôtel d'Orleans," pointing
to it as they turned the corner of the street; "splendid house it is.
I've no interest in taking you there, don't suppose so; but the sun of
its greatness is fast setting--there's no such shaking of elbows as
there used to be--the IOU system knocked that up. Still, you'll be very
comfortable; a bit of carpet by your bedside, curtains to your windows,
a pie-dish to wash in, a clean towel every third day, and as many
friends to dine with you as ever you like--no want of company in
Boulogne, I assure you. Here, Mr. W----," addressing the innkeeper who
appeared at the door, "this is the very celebrated Mr. Jorrocks, of whom
we have all heard so much,--take him and use him as you would your own
son; and, hark ye (aside), don't forget I brought him."
"Garsoon," said Jorrocks, after having composed himself a little during
which time he was also composing a French speech from his dictionary
and Madame de Genlis's[20] _Manuel du Voyageur_, "A che hora [ora] si
pranza?" looking at the waiter, who seemed astonished. "Oh, stop!" said
he, looking again, "that's Italian--I've got hold of the wrong column.
A quelle heure dine--hang me if I know how to call this chap--dine
[spelling it], t'on?" "What were you wishing to say, sir?" inquired the
waiter, interrupting his display of the language. "Wot, do you speak
English?" asked Jorrocks in amazement. "I hope so, sir," replied the
man, "for I'm an Englishman." "Then, why the devil did you not say so,
you great lout, instead of putting me into a sweat this 'ot day
by speaking French to you?" "Beg pardon, sir, thought you were a
Frenchman." "Did you, indeed?" said Jorrocks, delighted; "then, by Jove,
I do speak French! Somehow or other I thought I could, as I came over.
Bring me a thundering beef-steak, and a pint of stout, directly!" The
Hôtel d'Orleans being a regular roast-beef and plum-pudding sort of
house, Mr. Jorrocks speedily had an immense stripe of tough beef and
boiled potatoes placed before him, in the well-windowed _salle à
manger_, and the day being fine he regaled himself at a table at an open
window, whereby he saw the smart passers-by, and let them view him in
return.
[Footnote 20: For the benefit of our "tarry-at-home" readers, we should
premise that Madame de Genlis's work is arranged for the convenience of
travellers who do not speak any language but their own; and it consists
of dialogues on different necessary subjects, with French and Italian
translations opposite the English.]
Sunday is a gay day in France, and Boulogne equals the best town in
smartness. The shops are better set out, the women are better dressed,
and there is a holiday brightness and air of pleasure on every
countenance. Then instead of seeing a sulky husband trudging behind a
pouting wife with a child in her arms, an infallible sign of a Sunday
evening in England, they trip away to the rural _fête champêtre_, where
with dancing, lemonade, and love, they pass away the night in temperate
if not innocent hilarity. "Happy people! that once a week, at least,
lay down their cares, and dance and sing, and sport away the weights of
grievance, which bow down the spirit of other nations to the earth."
The voyage, though short, commenced a new era in Mr. Jorrocks's life,
and he entirely forget all about Sunday and Dover dullness the moment he
set foot on sprightly France, and he no more recollected it was Sunday,
than if such a day had ceased to exist in the calendar. Having bolted
his steak, he gave his Hessians their usual flop with his handkerchief,
combed his whiskers, pulled his wig straight, and sallied forth,
dictionary in hand, to translate the signs, admire the clever little
children talking French, quiz the horses, and laugh at everything
he didn't understand; to spend his first afternoon, in short, as
nine-tenths of the English who go "abroad" are in the habit of doing.
Early the next morning. Mr. Jorrocks and the Yorkshireman, accompanied
by the commissionnaire of the Hôtel d'Orleans, repaired to the upper
town, for the purpose of obtaining passports, and as they ascended the
steep street called La grand Rue, which connects the two towns, they
held a consultation as to what the former should be described. A
"Marchand-Epicier" would obtain Mr. Jorrocks no respect, but, then, he
objected to the word "Rentier." "What is the French for fox-'unter?"
said he, after a thoughtful pause, turning to his dictionary. There was
no such word. "Sportsman, then? Ay, Chasseur! how would that read? John
Jorrocks, Esq., Chasseur,--not bad, I think," said he. "That will do,"
replied the Yorkshireman, "but you must sink the Esquire now, and
tack 'Monsieur' before your name, and a very pretty euphonious sound
'Monsieur Jorrocks' will have; and when you hear some of the little
Parisian grisettes lisp it out as you turn the garters over on their
counters, while they turn their dark flashing eyes over upon you, it
will be enough to rejuvenate your old frame. But suppose we add to
'Chasseur'--'Member of the Surrey Hunt?'" "By all means," replied
Mr. Jorrocks, delighted at the idea, and ascending the stairs of the
Consulate three steps at a time.
The Consul, Mons. De Horter, was in attendance sitting in state, with
a gendarme at the door and his secretary at his elbow. "_Bonjour,_
Monsieur," said he, bowing, as Mr. Jorrocks passed through the lofty
folding door; to which our traveller replied, "The top of the morning to
you, sir," thinking something of that sort would be right. The Consul,
having scanned him through his green spectacles, drew a large sheet of
thin printed paper from his portfolio, with the arms of France placed
under a great petticoat at the top, and proceeded to fill up a request
from his most Christian Majesty to all the authorities, both civil and
military, of France, and also of all the allied "pays," "de laisser
librement passer" Monsieur John Jorrocks, Chasseur and member of the
Hont de Surrey, and plusieurs other Honts; and also, Monsieur Stubbs,
native of Angleterre, going from Boulogne to Paris, and to give them aid
and protection, "en cas de besoin," all of which Mr. Jorrocks --like
many travellers before him--construed into a most flattering compliment
and mark of respect, from his most Christian Majesty to himself.
Under the word "signalement" in the margin, the Consul also drew the
following sketch of our hero, in order, as Mr. Jorrocks supposed, that
the King of the Mouncheers might know him when he saw him:
"Age de 52 ans
Taille d'un mètre 62 centimetres
Perruque brun
Front large
Yeux gris-sanguin
Nez moyen
Barbe grisâtre
Vizage ronde
Teint rouge."
He then handed it over to Mr. Jorrocks for his signature, who, observing
the words "Signature du Porteur" at the bottom, passed it on to the
porter of the inn, until put right by the Consul, who, on receiving his
fee, bowed him out with great politeness.
Great as had been the grocer's astonishment at the horses and carts that
he had seen stirring about the streets, his amazement knew no bounds
when the first Paris diligence came rolling into town with six
horses, spreading over the streets as they swung about in all
directions--covered with bells, sheep-skins, worsted balls, and foxes'
brushes, driven by one solitary postilion on the off wheeler. "My vig,"
cried he, "here's Wombwell's wild-beast show! What the deuce are they
doing in France? I've not heard of them since last Bartlemy-fair, when I
took my brother Joe's children to see them feed. But stop--this is full
of men! My eyes, so it is! It's what young Dutch Sam would call a male
coach, because there are no females about it. Well, I declare, I am
almost sorry I did not bring Mrs. J----. Wot would they think to see
such a concern in Cheapside? Why, it holds half a township--a perfect
willage on wheels. My eyes, wot a curiosity! Well, I never thought to
live to see such a sight as this!--wish it was going our way that I
might have a ride in it. Hope ours will be as big." Shortly after theirs
did arrive, and Mr. Jorrocks was like a perfect child with delight. It
was not a male coach, however, for in the different compartments were
five or six ladies. "Oh, wot elegant creatures," cried he, eyeing them;
"I could ride to Jerusalem with them without being tired; wot a thing it
is to be a bachelor!"
The Conducteur--with the usual frogged, tagged, embroidered jacket, and
fur-bound cap--having hoisted their luggage on high, the passengers who
had turned out of their respective compartments to stretch their legs
after their cramping from Calais, proceeded to resume their places.
There were only two seats vacant in the interior, or, as Mr. Jorrocks
called it, the "middle house," consequently the Yorkshireman and he
crossed legs. The other four passengers had corner-seats, things much
coveted by French travellers. On Mr. Stubbs's right sat an immense
Englishman, enveloped in a dark blue camlet cloak, fastened with bronze
lionhead clasps, a red neckcloth, and a shabby, napless, broad-brimmed,
brown hat. His face was large, round, and red, without an atom of
expression, and his little pig eyes twinkled over a sort of a mark that
denoted where his nose should have been; in short, his head was more
like a barber's wig block than anything else, and his outline would have
formed a model of the dome of St. Paul's. On the Yorkshireman's left
was a chattering young red-trousered dragoon, in a frock-coat and flat
foraging cap with a flying tassel. Mr. Jorrocks was more fortunate than
his friend, and rubbed sides with two women; one was English, either
an upper nursery-maid or an under governess, but who might be safely
trusted to travel by herself. She was dressed in a black beaver bonnet
lined with scarlet silk, a nankeen pelisse with a blue ribbon, and
pea-green boots, and she carried a sort of small fish-basket on her
knee, with a "plain Christian's prayer book" on the top. The other was
French, approaching to middle age, with a nice smart plump figure, good
hazel-coloured eyes, a beautiful foot and ankle, and very well dressed.
Indeed, her dress very materially reduced the appearance of her age,
and she was what the milliners would call remarkably well "got up." Her
bonnet was a pink satin, with a white blonde ruche surmounted by a rich
blonde veil, with a white rose placed elegantly on one side, and her
glossy auburn hair pressed down the sides of a milk-white forehead, in
the Madonna style.--Her pelisse was of "violet-des-bois" figured silk,
worn with a black velvet pelerine and a handsomely embroidered collar.
Her boots were of a colour to match the pelisse; and a massive gold
chain round her neck, and a solitary pearl ring on a middle finger, were
all the jewellery she displayed. Mr. Jorrocks caught a glimpse of her
foot and ankle as she mounted the steps to resume her place in the
diligence, and pushing the Yorkshireman aside, he bundled in directly
after her, and took up the place we have described.
The vehicle was soon in motion, and its ponderous roll enchanted the
heart of the grocer. Independently of the novelty, he was in a humour to
be pleased, and everything with him was _couleur de rose_. Not so the
Yorkshireman's right-hand neighbour, who lounged in the corner, muffled
up in his cloak, muttering and cursing at every jolt of the diligence,
as it bumped across the gutters and jolted along the streets of
Boulogne. At length having got off the pavement, after crushing along at
a trot through the soft road that immediately succeeds, they reached the
little hill near Mr. Gooseman's farm, and the horses gradually relaxed
into a walk, when he burst forth with a tremendous oath, swearing that
he had "travelled three hundred thousand miles, and never saw horses
walk up such a bit of a bank before." He looked round the diligence in
the expectation of someone joining him, but no one deigned a reply, so,
with a growl and a jerk of his shoulders, he again threw himself into
his corner. The dragoon and the French lady then began narrating the
histories of their lives, as the French people always do, and Mr.
Jorrocks and the Yorkshireman sat looking at each other. At length Mr.
Jorrocks, pulling his dictionary and _Madame de Genlis_ out of his
pocket, observed, "I quite forgot to ask the guard at what time we
dine--most important consideration, for I hold it unfair to takes one's
stomach by surprise, and a man should have due notice, that he may tune
his appetite accordingly. I have always thought, that there's as much
dexterity required to bring an appetite to table in the full bloom of
perfection, as there is in training an 'oss to run on a particular
day.--Let me see," added he, turning over the pages of _de Genlis_--"it
will be under the head of eating and drinking, I suppose.--Here it
is--(opens and reads)--'I have a good appetite--I am hungry--I am werry
hungry--I am almost starved'--that won't do--'I have eaten
enough'--that won't do either--'To breakfast'--no.--But here it is, by
Jingo--'Dialogue before dinner'--capital book for us travellers, this
Mrs. de Genlis--(reads) 'Pray, take dinner with us to-day, I shall give
you plain fare.'--That means rough and enough, I suppose," observed Mr.
Jorrocks to the Yorkshireman.--"'What time do we dine to-day? French:
A quelle heure dinons-nous aujourd'hui?--Italian: A che hora (ora)
si prancey (pranza) oggi?'" "Ah, Monsieur, vous parlez Français à
merveille," said the French lady, smiling with the greatest good nature
upon him. "A marble!" said Mr. Jorrocks, "wot does that mean?"
preparing to look it out in the dictionary. "Ah, Monsieur, I shall you
explain--you speak French like a natif." "Indeed!" said Mr. Jorrocks,
with a bow, "I feel werry proud of your praise; and your English is
quite delightful.--By Jove," said he to the Yorkshireman, with a most
self-satisfied grin, "you were right in what you told me about the
gals calling me Monsieur.--I declare she's driven right home to my
'art--transfixed me at once, in fact."
Everyone who has done a little "voyaging," as they call it in France,
knows that a few miles to the south of Samer rises a very steep hill,
across which the route lies, and that diligence travellers are generally
invited to walk up it. A path which strikes off near the foot of the
hill, across the open, cuts off the angle, and--diligences being
anything but what the name would imply,--the passengers, by availing
themselves of the short cut, have ample time for striking up confabs,
and inquiring into the comforts of the occupiers of the various
compartments. Our friends of the "interior" were all busy jabbering
and talking--some with their tongues, others with their hands and
tongues--with the exception of the monster in the cloak, who sat like
a sack in the corner, until the horses, having reached the well-known
breathing place, made a dead halt, and the conducteur proceeded to
invite the party to descend and "promenade" up the hill. "What's
happened now?" cried the monster, jumping up as the door opened;
"surely, they don't expect us to walk up this mountain! I've travelled
three hundred thousand miles, and was never asked to do such a thing in
all my life before. I won't do it; I paid for riding, and ride I will.
You are all a set of infamous cheats," said he to the conducteur in good
plain English; but the conducteur, not understanding the language,
shut the door as soon as all the rest were out, and let him roll on
by himself. Jorrocks stuck to his woman, who had a negro boy in the
rotonde, dressed in baggy slate-coloured trousers, with a green
waistcoat and a blue coat, with a coronet on the button, who came to
hand her out, and was addressed by the heroic name of "Agamemnon."
Jorrocks got a glimpse of the button, but, not understanding foreign
coronets, thought it was a crest; nevertheless, he thought he might as
well inquire who his friend was, so, slinking back as they reached the
foot of the hill he got hold of the nigger, and asked what they called
his missis. Massa did not understand, and Mr. Jorrocks, sorely puzzled
how to explain, again had recourse to the _Manuel du Voyageur_; but
Madame de Genlis had not anticipated such an occurrence, and there was
no dialogue adapted to his situation. There was a conversation with a
lacquey, however, commencing with--"Are you disposed to enter into my
service?" and, in the hopes of hitting upon something that would convey
his wishes, he "hark'd forward," and passing by--"Are you married?"
arrived at--"What is your wife's occupation?" "Que fait votre femme?"
said he, suiting the action to the word, and pointing to Madame.
Agamemnon showed his ivories, as he laughed at the idea of Jorrocks
calling his mistress his wife, and by signs and words conveyed to him
some idea of the importance of the personage to whom he alluded. This he
did most completely, for before the diligence came up, Jorrocks pulled
the Yorkshireman aside, and asked if he was aware that they were
travelling with a real live Countess; "Madame la Countess Benwolio, the
nigger informs me," said he; "a werry grande femme, though what that
means I don't know." "Oh, Countesses are common enough here," replied
the Yorkshireman. "I dare say she's a stay-maker. I remember a
paint-maker who had a German Baron for a colour-grinder once." "Oh,"
said Jorrocks, "you are jealous--you always try to run down my friends;
but that won't do, I'm wide awake to your tricks"; so saying, he
shuffled off, and getting hold of the Countess, helped Agamemnon to
hoist her into the diligence. He was most insinuating for the next two
hours, and jabbered about love and fox-hunting, admiring the fine, flat,
open country, and the absence of hedges and flints; but as neither youth
nor age can subsist on love alone, his confounded appetite began to
trouble him, and got quite the better of him before they reached
Abbeville. Every mile seemed a league, and he had his head out of the
window at least twenty times before they came in sight of the town. At
length the diligence got its slow length dragged not only to Abbeville,
but to the sign of the "Fidèle Berger"--or "Fiddle Burgur," as Mr.
Jorrocks pronounced it--where they were to dine. The door being opened,
out he jumped, and with his _Manuel du Voyageur_ in one hand, and the
Countess Benvolio in the other, he pushed his way through the crowd of
"pauvres misérables" congregated under the gateway, who exhibited every
species of disease and infirmity that poor human nature is liable or
heir to, and entered the hotel. The "Sally manger," as he called it, was
a long brick-floored room on the basement, with a white stove at one
end, and the walls plentifully decorated with a panoramic view of the
Grand Nation wallopping the Spaniards at the siege of Saragossa. The
diligence being a leetle behind time as usual, the soup was on the table
when they entered. The passengers quickly ranged themselves round, and,
with his mouth watering as the female garçon lifted the cover from the
tureen, Mr. Jorrocks sat in the expectation of seeing the rich contents
ladled into the plates. His countenance fell fifty per cent as the first
spoonful passed before his eyes.--"My vig, why it's water!" exclaimed
he--"water, I do declare, with worms[21] in it--I can't eat such stuff as
that--it's not man's meat--oh dear, oh dear, I fear I've made a terrible
mistake in coming to France! Never saw such stuff as this at Bleaden's
or Birch's, or anywhere in the city." "I've travelled three hundred
thousand miles," said the fat man, sending his plate from him in
disgust, "and never tasted such a mess as this before." "I'll show
them up in _The Times_," cried Mr. Jorrocks; "and, look, what stuff is
here--beef boiled to rags!--well, I never, no never, saw anything like
this before. Oh, I wish I was in Great Coram Street again!--I'm sure
I can't live here--I wonder if I could get a return
chaise--waiter--garsoon--cuss! Oh dear! I see _Madame de Genlis_ is of
no use in a pinch--and yet what a dialogue here is! Oh heavens! grant
your poor Jorrocks but one request, and that is the contents of a single
sentence. 'I want a roasted or boiled leg of mutton, beef, hung beef,
a quarter of mutton, mutton chops, veal cutlets, stuffed tongue, dried
tongue, hog's pudding, white sausage, meat sausage, chicken with rice, a
nice fat roast fowl, roast chicken with cressy, roast or boiled pigeon,
a fricassee of chicken, sweet-bread, goose, lamb, calf's cheek, calf's
head, fresh pork, salt pork, cold meat, hash.'--But where's the use of
titivating one's appetite with reading of such luxteries? Oh, what a
wife Madame de Genlis would have made for me! Oh dear, oh dear, I shall
die of hunger, I see --I shall die of absolute famine--my stomach thinks
my throat's cut already!" In the height of his distress in came two
turkeys and a couple of fowls, and his countenance shone forth like an
April sun after a shower. "Come, this is better," said he; "I'll trouble
you, sir, for a leg and a wing, and a bit of the breast, for I'm really
famished--oh hang! the fellow's a Frenchman, and I shall lose half the
day in looking it out in my dictionary. Oh dear, oh dear, where's the
dinner dialogue!--well, here's something to that purpose. 'I will
send you a bit of this fowl.' 'A little bit of the fowl cannot hurt
you.'--No, nor a great bit either.--'Which do you like best, leg or
wing?' 'Qu'aimez-vous le mieux, la cuisse ou l'aile?'" Here the Countess
Benvolio, who had been playing a good knife and fork herself, pricked
up her ears, and guessing at Jorrocks's wants, interceded with her
countryman and got him a plateful of fowl. It was soon disposed of,
however, and half a dish of hashed hare or cat, that was placed within
reach of him shortly after, was quickly transferred into his plate. A
French dinner is admirably calculated for leading the appetite on by
easy stages to the grand consummation of satiety. It begins meagrely, as
we have shown, and proceeds gradually through the various gradations of
lights, savories, solids, and substantiate. Presently there was a
large dish of stewed eels put on. "What's that?" asked Jorrocks of the
man.--"Poisson," was the reply. "Poison! why, you infidel, have you no
conscience?" "Fishe," said the Countess. "Oh, ay, I smell--eels--just
like what we have at the Eel-pie-house at Twickenham--your ladyship, I
am thirsty--'ge soif,' in fact." "Ah, bon!" said the Countess, laughing,
and giving him a tumbler of claret. "I've travelled three hundred
thousand miles," said the fat man, "and never saw claret drunk in that
way before." "It's not werry good, I think," said Mr. Jorrocks, smacking
his lips; "if it was not claret I would sooner drink port." Some wild
ducks and fricandeau de veau which followed, were cut up and handed
round, Jorrocks helping himself plentifully to both, as also to pommes
de terre à la maitre d'hôtel, and bread at discretion. "Faith, but this
is not a bad dinner, after all's said and done, when one gets fairly
into it." "Fear it will be very expensive," observed the fat man. Just
when Jorrocks began to think he had satisfied nature, in came a roast
leg of mutton, a beef-steak, "à la G--d-dam", [22] and a dish of larks
and snipes.
[Footnote 21: Macaroni soup.]
[Footnote 22: When the giraffe mania prevailed in Paris, and gloves,
handkerchiefs, gowns, reticules, etc. were "à la Giraffe," an Englishman
asked a waiter if they had any beef-steaks "à la Giraffe." "No,
monsieur, but we have them à la G--d-dem," was the answer.]
"Must have another tumbler of wine before I can grapple with these
chaps," said he, eyeing them, and looking into Madame de Genlis's
book: "'Garsoon, donnez-moi un verre de vin,'" holding up the book and
pointing to the sentence. He again set to and "went a good one" at both
mutton and snipes, but on pulling up he appeared somewhat exhausted. He
had not got through it all yet, however. Just as he was taking breath, a
_garçon_ entered with some custards and an enormous omelette soufflée,
whose puffy brown sides bagged over the tin dish that contained it.
"There's a tart!" cried Mr. Jorrocks; "Oh, my eyes, what a swell!--Well,
I suppose I must have a shy at it.--'In for a penny in for a pound!' as
we say at the Lord Mayor's feed. Know I shall be sick, but, however,
here goes," sending his plate across the table to the _garçon_, who was
going to help it. The first dive of the spoon undeceived him as he heard
it sound at the bottom of the dish. "Oh lauk, what a go! All puff, by
Jove!--a regular humbug--a balloon pudding, in short! I won't eat such
stuff--give it to Mouncheer there," rejecting the offer of a piece. "I
like the solids;--will trouble you for some of that cheese, sir, and
don't let it taste of the knive. But what do they mean by setting
the dessert on before the cloth is removed? And here comes tea and
coffee--may as well have some, I suppose it will be all the same price.
And what's this?" eyeing a lot of liqueur glasses full of eau de vie.
"Chasse-café, Monsieur," said the _garçon_. "Chasse calf--chasse
calf--what's that? Oh, I twig--what we call 'shove in the mouth' at the
Free-and-Easy. Yes, certainly, give me a glass." "You shall take some
dessert," said the Countess, handing him over some peaches and biscuits.
"Well, I'll try my hand at it, if it will oblege your ladyship, but I
really have had almost enough." "And some abricot," said she, helping
him to a couple of fine juicy ones. "Oh, thank you, my lady, thank you,
my lady, I'm nearly satisfied." "Vous ne mangez pas," said she, giving
him half a plate of grapes. "Oh, my lady, you don't understand me--I
can't eat any more--I am regularly high and dry--chock full--bursting,
in fact." Here she handed him a plate of sponge-cakes mixed with
bon-bons and macaroons, saying, "Vous êtes un pauvre mangeur--vous
ne mangez rien, Monsieur." "Oh dear, she does not understand me, I
see.--Indeed, my lady, I cannot eat any more.--Ge woudera, se ge
could-era, mais ge can-ne-ra pas!" "Well, now, I've travelled three
hundred thousand miles, and never heard such a bit of French as that
before," said the fat man, chuckling.