A comfortable evening at the Goose
When Mr. Bumpkin left the Mansion House, he was in a state of great
triumph not to say ecstasy: for it seemed to him that he had had
everything his own way. He was not cross-examined; no witnesses were
called, and it had only been stated by the prisoner himself, not proved,
although he said he should prove it at the trial, that the watch had been
in the family for upwards of forty years.
"The biggest lie," muttered Master Bumpkin, "that ever wur told." And
then he reasoned in this wise: "how could it a bin in his family forty
year when he, Bumpkin, only lost it the day afore in the most barefaced
manner? He was a pooty feller as couldn't tell a better story than
thic."
And then methought in my dream, "Ah, Bumpkin, thou may'st triumph now,
but little dreamest thou what is in store for thee at the trial. Wait
till all those little insignificant points, hardly visible at present,
shall rise, like spear-heads against thee at the Old Bailey and thrust
thee through and through and make thee curse the advocate's skill and the
thief's impudence and the inertness of the so-called Public Prosecutor:
and mayhap, I know not yet, show thee how wrong and robbery may triumph
over right and innocence. Thou hast raised thyself, good Bumpkin, from
the humblest poverty to comparative wealth and a lawsuit: but boast not
overmuch lest thou find Law a taskmaster instead of a Protector!
Thus, moralizing in my dream I perceived that Mr. Bumpkin after talking
to some men betook himself to a Bus and proceeded on his way to the
"Goose" at Westminster, whither he arrived in due time and in high
spirits.
The Goose was a nice cosy public-house, situated, as I before observed,
near the river side and commanded a beautiful view of the neighbouring
wharves and the passing craft. It was a favourite resort of waterside
men, carters, carriers, labourers on the wharf and men out of work. The
Military also patronized it:--And many were the jovial tales told around
the taproom hearth by members of Her Majesty's troops to admiring and
astonished Ignorance.
It was a particularly cold and bleak day, this ninth of March one
thousand eight hundred and something. The wind was due East and
accompanied ever and anon with mighty thick clouds of sleet and snow.
The fireside therefore was particularly comfortable, and the cheery faces
around the hearth were pleasant to behold.
Now Mr. Bumpkin, as the reader knows, was not alone in his expedition.
He had his witness, named Joseph Wurzel: called in the village "Cocky,"
inasmuch as it was generally considered that he set much by his wisdom:
and was possessed of considerable attainments. For instance, he could
snare a hare as well as any man in the county: or whistle down pheasants
to partake of a Buckwheat refection which he was in the habit of
spreading for their repast.
A good many fellows who were envious of Joe's abilities avowed that "he
was a regler cunnin' feller, as ud some day find out his mistake;"
meaning thereby that Joe would inevitably be sent to prison. Others
affirmed that he was a good deal too cunning for that; that he was a
regular artful dodger, and knew how to get round the vicar and all in
authority under him. The reader knows that he was a regular attendant at
Church, and by that means was in high favour. Nor was his mother behind
hand in this respect, especially in the weeks before Christmas; and truly
her religion brought its reward even in this world in the shape of Parish
Gifts.
No doubt Joe was fond of the chase, but in this respect he but imitated
his superiors, except that I believe he occasionally went beyond them in
the means he employed.
Assembled in this common room at the Goose on the night in question, were
a number of persons of various callings and some of no calling in
particular. Most of them were acquainted, and apparently regular
customers. One man in particular became a great favourite with Joe, and
that was Jacob Wideawake the Birdcatcher; and it was interesting to
listen to his conversation on the means of catching and transforming the
London Sparrow into an article of Commerce.
Joe's dress no doubt attracted the attention of his companions when he
first made his appearance, for it was something out of the ordinary
style: and certainly one might say that great care had been bestowed upon
him to render his personal appearance attractive in the witness-box. He
wore a wideawake hat thrown back on his head, thus displaying his brown
country-looking face to full advantage. His coat was a kind of dark
velveteen which had probably seen better days in the Squire's family; so
had the long drab waistcoat. His corduroy trousers, of a light green
colour, were hitched up at the knees with a couple of straps as though he
wore his garters outside. His neckerchief was a bright red, tied round
his neck in a careless but not unpicturesque manner. Take him for all in
all he was as fine a specimen of a country lad as one could wish to
meet,--tall, well built, healthy looking, and even handsome.
Now Mr. Bumpkin, being what is called "a close man," and prone to keep
his own counsel on all occasions when it was not absolutely necessary to
reveal it, had said nothing about his case before the Lord Mayor; not
even Mrs. Oldtimes had he taken into his confidence. It is difficult to
understand his motive for such secrecy, as it is impossible to trace in
nine instances out of ten any particular line of human conduct to its
source.
Acting probably on some vague information that he had received, Mr.
Bumpkin looked into the room, and told Joe that he thought they should be
"on" to-morrow. He had learned the use of that legal term from frequent
intercourse with Mr. Prigg. He thought they should be on but "wur not
sartin."
"Well," said Joe, "the sooner the better. I hates this ere hangin'
about." At this Jack Outofwork, Tom Lazyman, and Bill Saunter laughed;
while Dick Devilmecare said, "He hated hanging about too; it was wus than
work."
"And that's bad enough, Heaven knows," said Lazyman.
Then I saw that at this moment entered a fine tall handsome soldier, who
I afterwards learned was Sergeant Goodtale of the One Hundred and
twenty-fourth Hussars. A smarter or more compact looking fellow it would
be impossible to find: and he came in with such a genial, good-natured
smile, that to look at him would almost make you believe there was no
happiness or glory on this side the grave except in Her Majesty's
service--especially the Hussars!
I also perceived that fluttering from the side of Sergeant Goodtale's
cap, placed carelessly and jauntily on the side of his head, was a bunch
of streamers of the most fascinating red white and blue you ever could
behold. Altogether, Sergeant Goodtale was a splendid sight. Down went
his cane on the table with a crack, as much as to say "The Queen!" and he
marched up to the fire and rubbed his hands: apparently taking no heed of
any human being in the room.
Mr. Bumpkin's heart leaped when he saw the military sight: his eyes
opened as if he were waking from a dream out of which he had been
disturbed by a cry of "fire:" and giving Joe a wink and an obviously
made-up look, beckoned him out of the room. As they went out they met a
young man, shabbily clad and apparently poorly fed. He had an
intelligent face, though somewhat emaciated. He might be, and probably
was, a clerk out of employment, and he threw himself on the seat in a
listless manner that plainly said he was tired of everything.
This was Harry Highlow. He had been brought up with ideas beyond his
means. It was through no fault of his that he had not been taught a
decent trade: those responsible for his training having been possessed of
the notion that manual labour lowers one's respectability: an error and a
wickedness which has been responsible for the ruin of many a promising
youth before to-day.
Harry was an intelligent, fairly educated youth, and nothing more. What
is to be done with raw material so plentiful as that? The cheapest
marketable commodity is an average education, especially in a country
where even our Universities can supply you with candidates for employment
at a cheaper rate than you can obtain the services of a first-class cook.
This young man had tried everything that was genteel: he had even aspired
to literature: sought employment on the Press, on the Stage, everywhere
in fact where gentility seemed to reign. Nor do I think he lacked
ability for any of these walks; it was not ability but opportunity that
failed him.
"Lookee ere, Joe," said Mr. Bumpkin; "harken to me. Don't thee 'ave nowt
to say to that there soger."
"All right, maister," said Joe, laughing; "thee thinks I be gwine for a
soger. Now lookee ere, maister, I beant a fool."
"No, thee beant, Joe. I knowed thee a good while, and thee beant no
fool."
Joe laughed. It was a big laugh was Joe's, for his mouth was somewhat
large, and a grin always seemed to twist it. On this occasion, so great
was his surprise that his master should think he would be fool enough to
enlist for a "soger," that his mouth assumed the most irregular shape I
ever saw, and bore a striking resemblance to a hole such as might be made
in the head of a drum by the heel of a boot.
"I be up to un, maister."
"Have no truck wi' un, I tell ee; don't speak to un. Thee be my head
witness, and doant dare goo away; no, no more un if--"
"No fear," said Joe. "'Taint likely I be gwine to listen to ee. I knows
what he wants; he's arter listin chaps."
"Look ee ere, Joe, if ur speaks to thee, jist say I beant sich a fool as
I looks; that'll ave un."
"Right," says Joe; "I beant sich a fool as I looks; that'll ave un
straight."
"Now, take heed; I'm gwine into the parlour wi' Landlord."
Accordingly, into the little quiet snuggery of Mr. Oldtimes, Mr. Bumpkin
betook himself. And many and many an agreeable evening was passed with
Mr. and Mrs. Oldtimes during the period when Mr. Bumpkin was waiting for
his trial. For Mr. and Mrs. Oldtimes being Somersetshire people knew
many inhabitants of the old days in the village of Yokelton, where Mr.
Bumpkin "were bred and born'd."
Meanwhile the "head witness" had returned to the cheerful scene in the
taproom, and sat leering out of the corners of his eyes upon the
Sergeant, as though he expected every moment that officer would make a
spring at him and have him upon the floor. But the Sergeant was not a
bullying, blustering sort of man at all; his demeanour was quiet in the
extreme. He scarcely looked at anyone. Simply engaged in warming his
hands at the cheerful fire, no one had cause to apprehend anything from
him.
But a man, Sergeant or no Sergeant, must, out of common civility,
exchange a word now and then, if only about the weather; and so he said,
carelessly,--
"Sharp weather, lads!"
Now, not even Joe could disagree with this; it was true, and was assented
to by all; Joe silently acquiescing. After the Sergeant had warmed his
hands and rubbed them sufficiently, he took off his cap and placed it on
a little shelf or rack; and then took out a meerschaum pipe, which he
exhibited without appearing to do so to the whole company. Then he
filled it from his pouch, and rang the bell; and when the buxom young
waitress appeared, he said,--
"My dear, I think I'll have a nice rump steak and some onions, if you
please."
"Yes, sir," said the maid.
Now I observed that two or three matters were noteworthy at this point.
First, Joe's mouth so watered that he actually went to the fireplace and
expectorated. Secondly, he was utterly amazed at the familiar manner in
which the Sergeant was permitted to address this beautiful young person,
who seemed to be quite a lady of quality. Thirdly, he was duly impressed
and astounded with the luxurious appetite of this Sergeant of Hussars!
Then the young woman came back and said,--"Would you like to have it in
the parlour, sir?"
"O no, my dear," said the Sergeant; "I would rather have it here. I hate
being alone."
As he said this, he slightly glanced at Dick Devilmecare. Dick,
flattering himself that the observation was addressed particularly to
him, observed that he also hated being alone.
Then the Sergeant lighted his pipe; and I suppose there was not one in
the company who did not think that tobacco particularly nice.
Next, the Sergeant rang again, and once more the pretty maid appeared.
"Lucy," said he, "while my steak is getting ready, I think I'll have
three of whiskey hot, with a little lemon in it."
At this there was an involuntary smacking of lips all round, although no
one was conscious he had exhibited any emotion. The Sergeant was
perfectly easy and indifferent to everything. He smoked, looked at the
fire, sipped his grog, spread out his legs, folded his arms; then rose
and turned his back to the fire, everyone thinking how thoroughly he
enjoyed himself.
"That smells very nice, Sergeant," said Harry.
"Yes, it's very good," said the Sergeant; "it's some I got down at
Yokelton, Somersetshire."
Here Joe looked up; he hadn't been home for a week, and began to feel
some interest in the old place, and everything belonging to it.
"I comes from that ere place, Mr. Sergeant," said he.
"Indeed, sir," said the Sergeant, in an off-hand manner.
"Did thee buy un at a shop by the Pond, sir?"
"That's it," replied the Sergeant, pointing with his pipe, "to the
right."
"The seame plaace," exclaimed Joe. "Why my sister lives there sarvant wi
that ooman as keeps the shop."
"Indeed!" said Sergeant Goodtale; "how very curious!"
And Jack said, "What a rum thing!"
And Bill said, "That is a rum thing!"
And Harry said it was a strange coincidence. In short, they all agreed
that it was the most remarkable circumstance that ever was.