THE PIC-NIC PARTY--SUFFERINGS BY OIL, ICE, FIRE, AND WATER--UPON THE
WHOLE THE "DIVARTING VAGABONDS," AS THE THESPIAN HEROES AND HEROINES ARE
CLASSICALLY TERMED, ARE VERY HAPPY, EXCEPTING MR. WINTERBOTTOM, WHOSE
FEELINGS ARE BY SITTING DOWN, DOWN TO ZERO.
One morning he came down to the hard, and, as usual, I expected that he
would go down the river. I ran to my boat, and hauled in close.
"No, Jacob, no; this day you will not carry Caesar and his fortunes, but
I have an order for you."
"Thank you; sir; what is the play?"
"The play--pooh! no play; but I hope it will prove a farce,
nevertheless, before it's over. We are to have a pic-nic party upon one
of those little islands up the river by Kew. All sock and buskin, all
theatricals: if the wherries upset, the Hay-market may shut up, for it
will be `_exeunt omnes_' with all its best performers. Look you, Jacob,
we shall want three wherries, and I leave you to pick out the other
two--oars in each, of course. You must be at Whitehall steps exactly at
nine o'clock, and I daresay the ladies won't make you wait more than an
hour or two, which, for them, is tolerably punctual."
Mr Tinfoil then entered into the arrangement for remuneration, and
walked away; and I was conning over in my mind whom I should select from
my brother watermen, and whether I should ask old Stapleton to take the
other oar in my boat, when I heard a voice never to be mistaken by me--
"Life is like a summer day
Warmed by a sunny ray.
"Lower away yet, Tom. That'll do, my trump.
"Sometimes a dreary cloud,
Chill blast, or tempest loud.
"Look out for Jacob, Tom," cried the old man, as the head of the
lighter, with her mast lowered down, made its appearance through the
arch of Putney Bridge, with bright blue streaks on her sides.
"Here he is, father," replied Tom, who was standing forward by the
windlass, with the fall in his hand.
I had shoved off, on hearing old Tom's voice, and was alongside almost
as soon as the lighter had passed under the bridge, and discovered old
Tom at the helm. I sprang on the deck, with the chain-painter of the
wherry in my hand, made it fast, and went aft to old Tom, who seized my
hand.
"This is as it should be, my boy, both on the look-out for each other.
The heart warms when we know the feeling is on both sides. You're
seldom out of our thoughts, boy, and always in our hearts. Now, jump
forward, for Tom's fretting to greet you, I see, and you may just as
well help him to sway up the mast when you are there."
I went forward, shook hands with Tom, and then clapped on the fall, and
assisted him to hoist the mast. We then went aft to his father and
communicated everything of interest which had passed since our last
meeting at the house of old Stapleton.
"And how's Mary?" inquired Tom; "she's a very fine lass, and I've
thought of her more than once; but I saw that all you said about her was
true. How she did flam the poor old Dominie!"
"I have had a few words with her about it, and she has promised to be
wiser," replied I; "but as her father says, `in her it's human natur'.'"
"She's a fine craft," observed old Tom, "and they always be a little
ticklish. But, Jacob, you've had some inquiries made after you, and by
the women, too."
"Indeed!" replied I.
"Yes; and I have had the honour of being sent for into the parlour. Do
you guess now?"
"Yes," said I, a gloom coming over my countenance. "I presume it is
Drummond and Sarah whom you refer to?"
"Exactly."
Tom then informed me that Mrs Drummond had sent for him, and asked a
great many questions about me, and desired him to say that they were
very glad to hear that I was well and comfortable, and hoped that I
would call and see her and Sarah when I came that way. Mrs Drummond
then left the room, and Tom was alone with Sarah, who desired him to
say, that her father had found out that I had not been wrong; that he
had dismissed both the clerks; and that he was very sorry he had been so
deceived--"and then," said Tom, "Miss Sarah told me to say from herself,
that she had been very unhappy since you had left them, but that she
hoped that you would forgive and forget some day or another, and come
back to them; and that I was to give you her love, and call next time we
went up the river for something that she wanted to send to you. So you
perceive, Jacob, that you are not forgotten, and justice has been done
to you."
"Yes," replied I, "but it has been too late; so let us say no more about
it. I am quite happy as I am."
I then told them of the pic-nic party of the next day, upon which Tom
volunteered to take the other oar in my boat, as he would not be wanted
while the barge was at the wharf. Old Tom gave his consent, and it was
agreed he should meet me next morning at daylight.
"I've a notion there'll be some fun, Jacob," said he, "from what you
say."
"I think so, too; but you've towed me two miles, and I must be off
again, or I shall lose my dinner; so good-bye;" I selected two other
wherries in the course of the afternoon, and then returned home.
It was a lovely morning when Tom and I washed out the boat, and, having
dressed ourselves in our neatest clothes, we shoved off in company with
the two other wherries, and dropped leisurely down the river with the
last of the ebb. When we pulled in to the stairs at Whitehall, we found
two men waiting for us with three or four hampers, some baskets, an iron
saucepan, a frying-pan, and a large tin pail with a cover, full of rough
ice to cool the wines. We were directed to put all these articles into
one boat; the others to be reserved for the company.
"Jacob," said Tom, "don't let us be kitchen; I'm togged out for the
parlour."
This point had just been arranged, and the articles put into the wherry,
when the party made their appearance, Mr Tinfoil acting as master of
the ceremonies.
"Fair Titania," said he to the lady who appeared to demand, and
therefore received, the most attention, "allow me to hand you to your
throne."
"Many thanks, good Puck," replied the lady; "we are well placed; but
dear me, we haven't brought, or we have lost, our vinaigrette; we
positively cannot go without it. What can our women have been about?"
"Pease-blossom and Mustard-seed are much to blame," replied Tinfoil;
"but shall I run back for it?"
"Yes," replied the lady, "and be here again ere the leviathan can swim a
league."
"I'll put a girdle round the earth in forty minutes," replied the
gentleman, stepping out of the boat.
"Won't you be a little out of breath before you come back, sir?" said
Tom, joining the conversation.
This remark, far from giving offence, was followed by a general laugh.
Before Mr Tinfoil was out of sight, the lost vinaigrette was dropped
out of the lady's handkerchief; he was therefore recalled; and the whole
of the party being arranged in the two boats, we shoved off; the third
boat, in which the provender had been stowed, followed us, and was
occupied by the two attendants, a call-boy and scene-shifter, who were
addressed by Tinfoil as Caliban and Stephano.
"Is all our company here?" said a pert-looking, little pug-nosed man,
who had taken upon himself the part of Quince the carpenter, in the
Midsummer Night's Dream. "You, Nick Bottom," continued he, addressing
another, "are set down for Pyramus."
The party addressed did not, however, appear to enter into the humour.
He was a heavy-made, rather corpulent, white-faced personage, dressed in
white jean trousers, white waistcoat, brown coat, and white hat.
Whether anything had put him out of humour I know not, but it is evident
that he was the butt of the ladies and of most of the party.
"I'll just thank you," replied this personage, whose real name was
Winterbottom, "to be quiet, Mr Western, for I shan't stand any of your
nonsense."
"Oh, Mr Winterbottom, surely you are not about to sow the seeds of
discord so early. Look at the scene before you--hear how the birds are
singing, how merrily the sun shines and how beautifully the water
sparkles! Who can be cross on such a morning as this?"
"No, miss," replied Mr Winterbottom, "not at all--not at all--only my
name's Winterbottom, and not Bottom. I don't wear an ass's head to
please anybody--that's all. I won't be _bottom_--that's _flat_."
"That depends upon circumstances, sir," observed Tom.
"What business have you to shove your oar in, Mr Waterman?"
"I was hired for the purpose," replied Tom, dipping his oar in the
water, and giving a hearty stroke.
"Stick to your own element, then--shove your oar into the water, but not
into our discourse."
"Well, sir, I won't say another word, if you don't like it."
"But you may to me," said Titania, laughing, "whenever you please."
"And to me too," said Tinfoil, who was amused with Tom's replies.
Mr Winterbottom became very wroth, and demanded to be put on shore
directly, but the Fairy Queen ordered us to obey him at our peril, and
Mr Winterbottom was carried up the river very much against his
inclination.
"Our friend is not himself," said Mr Tinfoil, producing a key bugle;
"but--
"Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast,
To soften rocks, and rend the knotted oak.
"And, therefore, will we try the effect of it upon his senses." Mr
Tinfoil then played the air in "Midas":--
"Pray, Goody, please to moderate," etcetera.
During which Mr Winterbottom looked more sulky than ever. As soon as
the air was finished, another of the party responded with his flute,
from the other boat--while Mr Quince played what he called base, by
snapping his fingers. The sounds of the instruments floated along the
flowing and smooth water, reaching the ears and attracting the attention
of many who, for a time, rested from their labour, or hung listlessly
over the gunnels of the vessels, watching the boats, and listening to
the harmony. All was mirth and gaiety--the wherries kept close to each
other, and between the airs the parties kept up a lively and witty
conversation, occasionally venting their admiration upon the verdure of
the sloping lawns and feathering trees with which the banks of the noble
river are so beautifully adorned; even Mr Winterbottom had partially
recovered his serenity, when he was again irritated by a remark of
Quince, who addressed him.
"You can play no part but Pyramus; for Pyramus is a sweet-faced man--a
proper man as one shall see on a summer's day; a most lovely,
gentleman-like man; therefore, you must needs play Pyramus."
"Take care I don't play the devil with your physiognomy, Mr Western,"
retorted Winterbottom.
Here Caliban, in the third boat, began playing the fiddle and singing to
it--
"Gaffer, Gaffer's son, and his little jackass,
Were trotting along the road."
The chorus of which ditty was "Ee-aw, Ee-aw!" like the braying of a
jackass.
"Bless thee, Bottom, bless thee; thou art translated," cried Quince,
looking at Winterbottom.
"Very well--very well, Mr Western. I don't want to upset the wherry,
and therefore you're safe at present, but the reckoning will come--so I
give you warning."
"Slaves of my lamp, do my bidding. I will have no quarrelling here.
You, Quince, shut your mouth; you, Winterbottom, draw in your lips, and
I, your queen, will charm you with a song," said Titania, waving her
little hand. The fiddler ceased playing, and the voice of the fair
actress rivetted all our attention.
"Wilt thou waken, bride of May,
While flowers are fresh, and sweet bells chime,
Listen and learn from my roundelay
How all life's pilot boats sailed one day
A match with Time!
"Love sat on a lotus-leaf aloft,
And saw old Time in his loaded boat,
Slowly he crossed Life's narrow tide,
While Love sat clapping his wings, and cried,
`Who will pass Time?'
"Patience came first, but soon was gone,
With helm and sail to help Time on;
Care and Grief could not lend an oar,
And Prudence said (while he staid on shore),
`I wait for Time.'
"Hope filled with flowers her cork-tree bark,
And lighted its helm with a glow-worm's spark;
Then Love, when he saw his bark fly past,
Said, `Lingering Time will soon be passed,
Hope outspeeds time.'
"Wit went nearest Old Time to pass,
With his diamond oar and boat of glass
A feathery dart from his store he drew,
And shouted, while far and swift it flew,
`O Mirth kills Time!'
"But Time sent the feathery arrow back,
Hope's boat of Amaranthus miss'd its track;
Then Love bade its butterfly pilots move,
And laughing, said `They shall see how Love
Can conquer Time.'"
I need hardly say that the song was rapturously applauded, and most
deservedly so. Several others were demanded from the ladies and
gentlemen of the party, and given without hesitation; but I cannot now
recall them to my memory. The bugle and flute played between whiles,
and all was laughter and merriment.
"There's a sweet place," said Tinfoil, pointing to a villa on the
Thames; "Now, with the fair Titania and ten thousand a-year, one could
there live happy."
"I'm afraid the fair Titania must go to market without the latter
encumbrance," replied the lady; "The gentleman must find the ten
thousand a-year, and I must bring as my dowry--"
"Ten thousand charms," interrupted Tinfoil--"that's most true, and pity
'tis 'tis true. Did your fairyship ever hear my epigram on the subject?
"Let the lads of the East love the maids of _Cash-meer_,
Nor affection with interests clash;
Far other idolatry pleases us here,
We adore but the maids of _Mere Cash_."
"Excellent, good Puck! Have you any more?"
"Not of my own, but you have heard what Winterbottom wrote under the
bust of Shakespeare last Jubilee?"
"I knew not that Apollo had ever visited him."
"You shall hear:--
"In _this here_ place the bones of Shakespeare lie,
But _that ere_ form of his shall never die;
A _speedy end and soon_ this world may have,
But Shakespeare's name shall _bloom_ beyond the grave."
"I'll trouble you, Mr Tinfoil, not to be so very witty at my expense,"
growled out Winterbottom. "I never wrote a line of poetry in my life."
"No one said you did, Winterbottom; but you won't deny that you wrote
those lines."
Mr Winterbottom disdained a reply. Gaily did we pass the variegated
banks of the river, swept up with a strong flood-tide, and at last
arrived at a little island agreed upon as the site of the pic-nic. The
company disembarked, and were busy looking for a convenient spot for
their entertainment, Quince making a rapid escape from Winterbottom, the
latter remaining on the bank. "Jenkins," said he to the man christened
Caliban, "you did not forget the salad?"
"No, sir, I brought it myself. It's on the top of the little hamper."
Mr Winterbottom, who, it appears, was extremely partial to salad, was
satisfied with the reply, and walked slowly away.
"Well," said Tom to me, wiping the perspiration from his brow with his
handkerchief, "I wouldn't have missed this for anything. I only wish
father had been here. I hope that young lady will sing again before we
part."
"I think it very likely, and that the fun is only begun," replied I.
"But come, let's lend a hand to get the prog out of the boat."
"Pat! pat! and here's a marvellous convenient place for our rehearsal.
This green plot shall be our stage," cried Quince, addressing the others
of the party.
The locality was approved of, and now all were busy in preparation. The
hampers were unpacked, and cold meats, poultry, pies of various kinds,
pastry, etcetera, appeared in abundance.
"This is no manager's feast," said Tinfoil; "the fowls are not made of
wood, nor is small beer substituted for wine. Don Juan's banquet to the
Commendador is a farce to it."
"All the manager's stage banquets are farces, and very sorry jokes into
the bargain," replied another.
"I wish old Morris had to eat his own suppers."
"He must get a new set of teeth, or they'll prove a _deal_ too tough."
"Hiss! turn him out! he's made a _pun_."
The hampers were now empty; some laid the cloth upon the grass, and
arranged the plates, and knives and forks. The ladies were as busy as
the gentlemen--some were wiping the glasses, others putting salt into
the salt-cellars. Titania was preparing the salad. Mr Winterbottom,
who was doing nothing, accosted her; "May I beg as a favour that you do
not cut the salad too small? It loses much of its crispness."
"Why, what a Nebuchadnezzar you are! However, sir, you shall be
obeyed."
"Who can fry fish?" cried Tinfoil. "Here are two pairs of soles and
some eels. Where's Caliban?"
"Here I am, sir," replied the man on his knees, blowing up a fire which
he had kindled. "I have got the soup to mind."
"Where's Stephano?"
"Cooling the wine, sir."
"Who, then, can fry fish, I ask?"
"I can, sir," replied Tom; "but not without butter."
"Butter shalt thou have, thou disturber of the element. Have we not
_Hiren_ here?"
"I wasn't _hired_ as a cook, at all events," replied Tom: "but I'm
rather a _dab_ at it."
"Then shalt thou have the _place_," replied the actor.
"With all my heart and _soul_," cried Tom, taking out his knife, and
commencing the necessary operation of skinning the fish.
In half-an-hour all was ready: the fair Titania did me the honour to
seat herself upon my jacket, to ward off any damp from the ground. The
other ladies had also taken their respective seats, as allotted by the
mistress of the revels; the tables were covered by many of the good
things of this life; the soup was ready in a tureen at one end, and Tom
had just placed the fish on the table, while Mr Quince and
Winterbottom, by the commands of Titania, were despatched for the wine
and other varieties of potations. When they returned, eyeing one
another askance, Winterbottom looking daggers at his opponent, and
Quince not quite easy even under the protection of Titania, Tom had just
removed the frying-pan from the fire with its residuary grease still
bubbling. Quince having deposited his load, was about to sit down, when
a freak came into Tom's head, which, however, he dared not put into
execution himself; but "a nod is as good as a wink to a blind horse,"
says the proverb. Winterbottom stood before Tom, and Quince with his
back to them. Tom looked at Winterbottom, pointing slily to the
frying-pan, and then to the hinder parts of Quince. Winterbottom
snatched the hint and the frying-pan at the same moment. Quince
squatted himself down with a serge, as they say at sea, quoting at the
time--"Marry, our play is the most lamentable comedy"--but putting his
hands behind him, to soften his fall, they were received into the hot
frying-pan, inserted behind him by Winterbottom.
"Oh, Lord! oh! oh!" shrieked Mr Quince, springing up like lightning,
bounding in the air with the pain, his hands behind him still adhering
to the frying-pan.
At the first scream of Mr Quince, the whole party had been terrified;
the idea was that a snake had bitten him, and the greatest alarm
prevailed; but when they perceived the cause of the disaster, even his
expressions of pain could not prevent their mirth. It was too
ludicrous. Still the gentlemen and ladies condoled with him, but Mr
Quince was not to be reasoned with. He walked away to the river-side,
Mr Winterbottom slily enjoying his revenge, for no one but Tom had an
idea that it was anything but an accident. Mr Quince's party of
pleasure was spoiled, but the others did not think it necessary that
theirs should be also. A "really very sorry for poor Western," and a
half-dozen "poor fellows!" intermingled with tittering, was all that his
misfortunes called forth after his departure; and then they set to like
French falconers. The soup was swallowed, the fish disappeared, joints
were cut up, pies delivered up their hidden treasures, fowls were
dismembered like rotten boroughs, corks were drawn, others flew without
the trouble, and they did eat and were filled. Mr Winterbottom kept
his eye upon the salad, his favourite condiment, mixed it himself,
offered it to all, and was glad to find that no one would spare time to
eat it; but Mr Winterbottom could eat for everybody, and he did eat.
The fragments were cleared away, and handed over to us. We were very
busy, doing as ample justice to them as the party had done before us,
when Mr Winterbottom was observed to turn very pale, and appeared very
uneasy.
"What's the matter?" inquired Mr Tinfoil.
"I'm--I'm not very well--I--I'm afraid something has disagreed with me.
I'm very ill," exclaimed Mr Winterbottom, turning as white as a sheet,
and screwing up his mouth.
"It must be the salad," said one of the ladies; "no one has eaten it but
yourself, and we are all well."
"I--rather think--it must be--oh--I do recollect that I thought the oil
had a queer taste."
"Why there was no oil in the castors," replied Tinfoil. "I desired
Jenkins to get some."
"So did I, particularly," replied Winterbottom. "Oh!--oh, dear--oh,
dear!"
"Jenkins," cried Tinfoil, "where did you get the oil for the castors?
What oil did you get?--are you sure it was right?"
"Yes, sir, quite sure," replied Jenkins. "I brought it here in a
bottle, and put it into the castors before dinner."
"Where did you buy it?"
"At the chemist's, sir. Here's the bottle;" and Jenkins produced a
bottle with _castor_ oil in large letters labelled on the side.
The murder was out. Mr Winterbottom groaned, rose from his seat, for
he felt very sick indeed. The misfortunes of individuals generally add
to the general quota of mirth, and Mr Winterbottom's misfortune had the
same effect as that of Mr Quince. But where was poor Mr Quince all
this time? He had sent for the iron kettle in which the soup had been
warmed up, and filling it full of Thames water, had immersed the
afflicted parts in the cooling element. There he sat with his hands
plunged deep, when Mr Winterbottom made his appearance at the same spot
and Mr Quince was comforted by witnessing the state of his enemy.
Indeed, the sight of Winterbottom's distress did more to soothe Mr
Quince's pain than all the Thames water in the world. He rose, and
leaving Winterbottom, with his two hands to his head, leaning against a
tree, joined the party, and pledged the ladies in succession, till he
was more than half tipsy.
In the space of half-an-hour Mr Winterbottom returned, trembling and
shivering as if he had been suffering under an ague. A bumper or two of
brandy restored him, and before the day closed in, both Winterbottom and
Quince, one applying stimulants to his stomach, and the other drowning
his sense of pain in repeated libations, were in a state (to say the
least of it) of incipient intoxication. But there is a time for all
things, and it was time to return. The evening had passed freely; song
had followed song. Tinfoil had tried his bugle, and played not a little
out of tune; the flute also neglected the flats and sharps as of no
consequence; the ladies thought the gentlemen rather too forward, and,
in short, it was time to break up the party. The hampers were repacked,
and handed half-empty, into the boat. Of wine there was a little left;
and by the direction of Titania, the plates, dishes, etcetera, only were
to be returned, and the fragments divided among the boatmen. The
company re-embarked in high spirits, and we had the ebb-tide to return
with. Just as we were shoving off, it was remembered that the ice-pail
had been left under the tree, besides a basket with sundries. The other
wherries had shoved off, and they were in consequence brought into our
boat, in which we had the same company as before, with the exception of
Mr Western, _alias_ Quince, who preferred the boat which carried the
hampers, that he might loll over the side, with his hands in the water.
Mr Winterbottom soon showed the effects of the remedy he had taken
against the effects of the castor oil. He was uproarious, and it was
with difficulty that he could be persuaded to sit still in the boat,
much to the alarm of Titania and the other ladies. He would make
violent love to the fairy queen; and as he constantly shifted his
position to address her and throw himself at her feet, there was some
danger of the boat being upset. At last Tom proposed to him to sit on
the pail before her, as then he could address her with safety; and
Winterbottom staggered up to take the seat. As he was seating himself,
Tom took off the cover, so that he was plunged into the half-liquid ice;
but Mr Winterbottom was too drunk to perceive it. He continued to rant
and to rave, and protest and vow, and even spout for some time, when
suddenly the quantity of caloric extracted from him produced its effect.
"I--I--really believe that the night is damp--the dew falls--the seat is
damp, fair Titania."
"It's only fancy, Mr Winterbottom," replied Titania who was delighted
with his situation. "Jean trousers are cool in the evening; it's only
an excuse to get away from me, and I never will speak again to you if
you quit your seat."
"The fair Titania, the mistress of my soul, and body too, if she
pleases--has--but to command--and her slave obeys."
"I rather think it is a little damp," said Tinfoil; "allow me to throw a
little sand upon your seat;" and Tinfoil pulled out a large paper bag
full of salt, which he strewed over the ice.
Winterbottom was satisfied, and remained; but by the time we had reached
Vauxhall Bridge, the refrigeration had become so complete that he was
fixed on the ice, which the application of the salt had made solid. He
complained of cold, shivered, attempted to rise, but could not extricate
himself; at last his teeth chattered, and he became almost sober; but he
was helpless from the effects of the castor oil, his intermediate
intoxication, and his present state of numbness. He spoke less and
less; at last he was silent, and when we arrived at Whitehall stairs he
was firmly fixed in the ice. When released he could not walk, and he
was sent home in a hackney-coach.
"It was cruel to punish him so, Mr Tinfoil," said Titania.
"Cruel punishment! Why, yes; a sort of _impailment_," replied Mr
Tinfoil, offering his arm.
The remainder of the party landed and walked home, followed by the two
assistants, who took charge of the crockery; and thus ended the pic-nic
party, which, as Tom said, was the very funniest day he had ever spent
in his life.