Chapter XXIV

WHEREIN Mr. PETER MAGNUS GROWS

JEALOUS, AND THE MIDDLE-AGED LADY

APPREHENSIVE, WHICH BRINGS THE

PICKWICKIANS WITHIN THE

GRASP OF THE LAW

hen Mr. Pickwick descended to the room in which he

and Mr. Peter Magnus had spent the preceding

evening, he found that gentleman with the major part

of the contents of the two bags, the leathern hat-box, and the

brown-paper parcel, displaying to all possible advantage on his

person, while he himself was pacing up and down the room in a

state of the utmost excitement and agitation.

‘Good-morning, sir,’ said Mr. Peter Magnus. ‘What do you think

of this, sir?’

‘Very effective indeed,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, surveying the

garments of Mr. Peter Magnus with a good-natured smile.

‘Yes, I think it’ll do,’ said Mr. Magnus. ‘Mr. Pickwick, sir, I have

sent up my card.’

‘Have you?’ said Mr. Pickwick.

‘And the waiter brought back word, that she would see me at

eleven―at eleven, sir; it only wants a quarter now.’

‘Very near the time,’ said Mr. Pickwick.

‘Yes, it is rather near,’ replied Mr. Magnus, ‘rather too near to

be pleasant―eh! Mr. Pickwick, sir?’

‘Confidence is a great thing in these cases,’ observed Mr.

Pickwick.

‘I believe it is, sir,’ said Mr. Peter Magnus. ‘I am very confident,

sir. Really, Mr. Pickwick, I do not see why a man should feel any

fear in such a case as this, sir. What is it, sir? There’s nothing to be

ashamed of; it’s a matter of mutual accommodation, nothing more.

Husband on one side, wife on the other. That’s my view of the

matter, Mr. Pickwick.’

‘It is a very philosophical one,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘But

breakfast is waiting, Mr. Magnus. Come.’

Down they sat to breakfast, but it was evident, notwithstanding

the boasting of Mr. Peter Magnus, that he laboured under a very

considerable degree of nervousness, of which loss of appetite, a

propensity to upset the tea-things, a spectral attempt at drollery,

and an irresistible inclination to look at the clock, every other

second, were among the principal symptoms.

‘He-he-he,’ tittered Mr. Magnus, affecting cheerfulness, and

gasping with agitation. ‘It only wants two minutes, Mr. Pickwick.

Am I pale, sir?’

‘Not very,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.

There was a brief pause.

‘I beg your pardon, Mr. Pickwick; but have you ever done this

sort of thing in your time?’ said Mr. Magnus.

‘You mean proposing?’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Yes.’

‘Never,’ said Mr. Pickwick, with great energy, ‘never.’

‘You have no idea, then, how it’s best to begin?’ said Mr.

Magnus.

‘Why,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘I may have formed some ideas upon

the subject, but, as I have never submitted them to the test of

experience, I should be sorry if you were induced to regulate your

proceedings by them.’

‘I should feel very much obliged to you, for any advice, sir,’ said

Mr. Magnus, taking another look at the clock, the hand of which

was verging on the five minutes past.

‘Well, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, with the profound solemnity with

which that great man could, when he pleased, render his remarks

so deeply impressive. ‘I should commence, sir, with a tribute to the

lady’s beauty and excellent qualities; from them, sir, I should

diverge to my own unworthiness.’

‘Very good,’ said Mr. Magnus.

‘Unworthiness for her only, mind, sir,’ resumed Mr. Pickwick;

‘for to show that I was not wholly unworthy, sir, I should take a

brief review of my past life, and present condition. I should argue,

by analogy, that to anybody else, I must be a very desirable object.

I should then expatiate on the warmth of my love, and the depth of

my devotion. Perhaps I might then be tempted to seize her hand.’

‘Yes, I see,’ said Mr. Magnus; ‘that would be a very great point.’

‘I should then, sir,’ continued Mr. Pickwick, growing warmer as

the subject presented itself in more glowing colours before him―‘I

should then, sir, come to the plain and simple question, “Will you

have me?” I think I am justified in assuming that upon this, she

would turn away her head.’

‘You think that may be taken for granted?’ said Mr. Magnus;

‘because, if she did not do that at the right place, it would be

embarrassing.’

‘I think she would,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Upon this, sir, I should

squeeze her hand, and I think―I think, Mr. Magnus―that after I

had done that, supposing there was no refusal, I should gently

draw away the handkerchief, which my slight knowledge of

human nature leads me to suppose the lady would be applying to

her eyes at the moment, and steal a respectful kiss. I think I should

kiss her, Mr. Magnus; and at this particular point, I am decidedly

of opinion that if the lady were going to take me at all, she would

murmur into my ears a bashful acceptance.’

Mr. Magnus started; gazed on Mr. Pickwick’s intelligent face,

for a short time in silence; and then (the dial pointing to the ten

minutes past) shook him warmly by the hand, and rushed

desperately from the room.

Mr. Pickwick had taken a few strides to and fro; and the small

hand of the clock following the latter part of his example, had

arrived at the figure which indicates the half-hour, when the door

suddenly opened. He turned round to meet Mr. Peter Magnus, and

encountered, in his stead, the joyous face of Mr. Tupman, the

serene countenance of Mr. Winkle, and the intellectual lineaments

of Mr. Snodgrass. As Mr. Pickwick greeted them, Mr. Peter

Magnus tripped into the room.

‘My friends, the gentleman I was speaking of―Mr. Magnus,’

said Mr. Pickwick.

‘Your servant, gentlemen,’ said Mr. Magnus, evidently in a high

state of excitement; ‘Mr. Pickwick, allow me to speak to you one

moment, sir.’

As he said this, Mr. Magnus harnessed his forefinger to Mr.

Pickwick’s buttonhole, and, drawing him to a window recess,

said―

‘Congratulate me, Mr. Pickwick; I followed your advice to the

very letter.’

‘And it was all correct, was it?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.

‘It was, sir. Could not possibly have been better,’ replied Mr.

Magnus. ‘Mr. Pickwick, she is mine.’

‘I congratulate you, with all my heart,’ replied Mr. Pickwick,

warmly shaking his new friend by the hand.

‘You must see her. sir,’ said Mr. Magnus; ‘this way, if you

please. Excuse us for one instant, gentlemen.’ Hurrying on in this

way, Mr. Peter Magnus drew Mr. Pickwick from the room. He

paused at the next door in the passage, and tapped gently thereat.

‘Come in,’ said a female voice. And in they went.

‘Miss Witherfield,’ said Mr. Magnus, ‘allow me to introduce my

very particular friend, Mr. Pickwick. Mr. Pickwick, I beg to make

you known to Miss Witherfield.’

The lady was at the upper end of the room. As Mr. Pickwick

bowed, he took his spectacles from his waistcoat pocket, and put

them on; a process which he had no sooner gone through, than,

uttering an exclamation of surprise, Mr. Pickwick retreated

several paces, and the lady, with a half-suppressed scream, hid her

face in her hands, and dropped into a chair; whereupon Mr. Peter

Magnus was stricken motionless on the spot, and gazed from one

to the other, with a countenance expressive of the extremities of

horror and surprise. This certainly was, to all appearance, very

unaccountable behaviour; but the fact is, that Mr. Pickwick no

sooner put on his spectacles, than he at once recognised in the

future Mrs. Magnus the lady into whose room he had so

unwarrantably intruded on the previous night; and the spectacles

had no sooner crossed Mr. Pickwick’s nose, than the lady at once

identified the countenance which she had seen surrounded by all

the horrors of a nightcap. So the lady screamed, and Mr. Pickwick

started.

‘Mr. Pickwick!’ exclaimed Mr. Magnus, lost in astonishment,

‘what is the meaning of this, sir? What is the meaning of it, sir?’

added Mr. Magnus, in a threatening, and a louder tone.

‘Sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick, somewhat indignant at the very sudden

manner in which Mr. Peter Magnus had conjugated himself into

the imperative mood, ‘I decline answering that question.’

‘You decline it, sir?’ said Mr. Magnus.

‘I do, sir,’ replied Mr. Pickwick; ‘I object to say anything which

may compromise that lady, or awaken unpleasant recollections in

her breast, without her consent and permission.’

‘Miss Witherfield,’ said Mr. Peter Magnus, ‘do you know this

person?’

‘Know him!’ repeated the middle-aged lady, hesitating.

‘Yes, know him, ma’am; I said know him,’ replied Mr. Magnus,

with ferocity.

‘I have seen him,’ replied the middle-aged lady.

‘Where?’ inquired Mr. Magnus, ‘where?’

‘That,’ said the middle-aged lady, rising from her seat, and

averting her head―‘that I would not reveal for worlds.’

‘I understand you, ma’am,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘and respect your

delicacy; it shall never be revealed by me depend upon it.’

‘Upon my word, ma’am,’ said Mr. Magnus, ‘considering the

situation in which I am placed with regard to yourself, you carry

this matter off with tolerable coolness―tolerable coolness, ma’am.’

‘Cruel Mr. Magnus!’ said the middle-aged lady; here she wept

very copiously indeed.

‘Address your observations to me, sir,’ interposed Mr. Pickwick;

‘I alone am to blame, if anybody be.’

‘Oh! you alone are to blame, are you, sir?’ said Mr. Magnus; ‘I―

I―see through this, sir. You repent of your determination now, do

you?’

‘My determination!’ said Mr. Pickwick.

‘Your determination, sir. Oh! don’t stare at me, sir,’ said Mr.

Magnus; ‘I recollect your words last night, sir. You came down

here, sir, to expose the treachery and falsehood of an individual on

whose truth and honour you had placed implicit reliance―eh?’

Here Mr. Peter Magnus indulged in a prolonged sneer; and taking

off his green spectacles―which he probably found superfluous in

his fit of jealousy―rolled his little eyes about, in a manner frightful

to behold.

‘Eh?’ said Mr. Magnus; and then he repeated the sneer with

increased effect. ‘But you shall answer it, sir.’

‘Answer what?’ said Mr. Pickwick.

‘Never mind, sir,’ replied Mr. Magnus, striding up and down the

room. ‘Never mind.’

There must be something very comprehensive in this phrase of

‘Never mind,’ for we do not recollect to have ever witnessed a

quarrel in the street, at a theatre, public room, or elsewhere, in

which it has not been the standard reply to all belligerent

inquiries. ‘Do you call yourself a gentleman, sir?’―‘Never mind,

sir.’ ‘Did I offer to say anything to the young woman, sir?’―‘Never

mind, sir.’ ‘Do you want your head knocked up against that wall,

sir?’―‘Never mind, sir.’ It is observable, too, that there would

appear to be some hidden taunt in this universal ‘Never mind,’

which rouses more indignation in the bosom of the individual

addressed, than the most lavish abuse could possibly awaken.

We do not mean to assert that the application of this brevity to

himself, struck exactly that indignation to Mr. Pickwick’s soul,

which it would infallibly have roused in a vulgar breast. We merely

record the fact that Mr. Pickwick opened the room door, and

abruptly called out, ‘Tupman, come here!’

Mr. Tupman immediately presented himself, with a look of very

considerable surprise.

‘Tupman,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘a secret of some delicacy, in

which that lady is concerned, is the cause of a difference which

has just arisen between this gentleman and myself. When I assure

him, in your presence, that it has no relation to himself, and is not

in any way connected with his affairs, I need hardly beg you to

take notice that if he continue to dispute it, he expresses a doubt of

my veracity, which I shall consider extremely insulting.’ As Mr.

Pickwick said this, he looked encyclopedias at Mr. Peter Magnus.

Mr. Pickwick’s upright and honourable bearing, coupled with

that force and energy of speech which so eminently distinguished

him, would have carried conviction to any reasonable mind; but,

unfortunately, at that particular moment, the mind of Mr. Peter

Magnus was in anything but reasonable order. Consequently,

instead of receiving Mr. Pickwick’s explanation as he ought to

have done, he forthwith proceeded to work himself into a red-hot,

scorching, consuming passion, and to talk about what was due to

his own feelings, and all that sort of thing; adding force to his

declamation by striding to and fro, and pulling his hair―

amusements which he would vary occasionally, by shaking his fist

in Mr. Pickwick’s philanthropic countenance.

Mr. Pickwick, in his turn, conscious of his own innocence and

rectitude, and irritated by having unfortunately involved the

middle-aged lady in such an unpleasant affair, was not so quietly

disposed as was his wont. The consequence was, that words ran

high, and voices higher; and at length Mr. Magnus told Mr.

Pickwick he should hear from him; to which Mr. Pickwick replied,

with laudable politeness, that the sooner he heard from him the

better; whereupon the middle-aged lady rushed in terror from the

room, out of which Mr. Tupman dragged Mr. Pickwick, leaving

Mr. Peter Magnus to himself and meditation.

If the middle-aged lady had mingled much with the busy world,

or had profited at all by the manners and customs of those who

make the laws and set the fashions, she would have known that

this sort of ferocity is the most harmless thing in nature; but as she

had lived for the most part in the country, and never read the

parliamentary debates, she was little versed in these particular

refinements of civilised life. Accordingly, when she had gained her

bedchamber, bolted herself in, and began to meditate on the scene

she had just witnessed, the most terrific pictures of slaughter and

destruction presented themselves to her imagination; among

which, a full-length portrait of Mr. Peter Magnus borne home by

four men, with the embellishment of a whole barrelful of bullets in

his left side, was among the very least. The more the middle-aged

lady meditated, the more terrified she became; and at length she

determined to repair to the house of the principal magistrate of

the town, and request him to secure the persons of Mr. Pickwick

and Mr. Tupman without delay.

To this decision the middle-aged lady was impelled by a variety

of considerations, the chief of which was the incontestable proof it

would afford of her devotion to Mr. Peter Magnus, and her anxiety

for his safety. She was too well acquainted with his jealous

temperament to venture the slightest allusion to the real cause of

her agitation on beholding Mr. Pickwick; and she trusted to her

own influence and power of persuasion with the little man, to quell

his boisterous jealousy, supposing that Mr. Pickwick were

removed, and no fresh quarrel could arise. Filled with these

reflections, the middle-aged lady arrayed herself in her bonnet

and shawl, and repaired to the mayor’s dwelling straightway.

Now George Nupkins, Esquire, the principal magistrate

aforesaid, was as grand a personage as the fastest walker would

find out, between sunrise and sunset, on the twenty-first of June,

which being, according to the almanacs, the longest day in the

whole year, would naturally afford him the longest period for his

search. On this particular morning, Mr. Nupkins was in a state of

the utmost excitement and irritation, for there had been a

rebellion in the town; all the day-scholars at the largest day-school

had conspired to break the windows of an obnoxious apple-seller,

and had hooted the beadle and pelted the constabulary―an

elderly gentleman in top-boots, who had been called out to repress

the tumult, and who had been a peace-officer, man and boy, for

half a century at least. And Mr. Nupkins was sitting in his easy-

chair, frowning with majesty, and boiling with rage, when a lady

was announced on pressing, private, and particular business. Mr.

Nupkins looked calmly terrible, and commanded that the lady

should be shown in; which command, like all the mandates of

emperors, and magistrates, and other great potentates of the

earth, was forthwith obeyed; and Miss Witherfield, interestingly

agitated, was ushered in accordingly.

‘Muzzle!’ said the magistrate.

Muzzle was an undersized footman, with a long body and short

legs.

‘Muzzle!’

‘Yes, your Worship.’

‘Place a chair, and leave the room.’

‘Yes, your Worship.’

‘Now, ma’am, will you state your business?’ said the magistrate.

‘It is of a very painful kind, sir,’ said Miss Witherfield.

‘Very likely, ma’am,’ said the magistrate. ‘Compose your

feelings, ma’am.’ Here Mr. Nupkins looked benignant. ‘And then

tell me what legal business brings you here, ma’am.’ Here the

magistrate triumphed over the man; and he looked stern again.

‘It is very distressing to me, sir, to give this information,’ said

Miss Witherfield, ‘but I fear a duel is going to be fought here.’

‘Here, ma’am?’ said the magistrate. ‘Where, ma’am?’

‘In Ipswich.’

‘In Ipswich, ma’am! A duel in Ipswich!’ said the magistrate,

perfectly aghast at the notion. ‘Impossible, ma’am; nothing of the

kind can be contemplated in this town, I am persuaded. Bless my

soul, ma’am, are you aware of the activity of our local magistracy?

Do you happen to have heard, ma’am, that I rushed into a prize-

ring on the fourth of May last, attended by only sixty special

constables; and, at the hazard of falling a sacrifice to the angry

passions of an infuriated multitude, prohibited a pugilistic contest

between the Middlesex Dumpling and the Suffolk Bantam? A duel

in Ipswich, ma’am? I don’t think―I do not think,’ said the

magistrate, reasoning with himself, ‘that any two men can have

had the hardihood to plan such a breach of the peace, in this

town.’

‘My information is, unfortunately, but too correct,’ said the

middle-aged lady; ‘I was present at the quarrel.’

‘It’s a most extraordinary thing,’ said the astounded magistrate.

‘Muzzle!’

‘Yes, your Worship.’

‘Send Mr. Jinks here, directly! Instantly.’

‘Yes, your Worship.’

Muzzle retired; and a pale, sharp-nosed, half-fed, shabbily-clad

clerk, of middle age, entered the room.

‘Mr. Jinks,’ said the magistrate. ‘Mr. Jinks.’

‘Sir,’ said Mr. Jinks. ‘This lady, Mr. Jinks, has come here, to

give information of an intended duel in this town.’

Mr. Jinks, not knowing exactly what to do, smiled a

dependent’s smile.

‘What are you laughing at, Mr. Jinks?’ said the magistrate.

Mr. Jinks looked serious instantly.

‘Mr. Jinks,’ said the magistrate, ‘you’re a fool.’

Mr. Jinks looked humbly at the great man, and bit the top of his

pen.

‘You may see something very comical in this information, sir―

but I can tell you this, Mr. Jinks, that you have very little to laugh

at,’ said the magistrate.

The hungry-looking Jinks sighed, as if he were quite aware of

the fact of his having very little indeed to be merry about; and,

being ordered to take the lady’s information, shambled to a seat,

and proceeded to write it down.

‘This man, Pickwick, is the principal, I understand?’ said the

magistrate, when the statement was finished.

‘He is,’ said the middle-aged lady.

‘And the other rioter―what’s his name, Mr. Jinks?’

‘Tupman, sir.’

‘Tupman is the second?’

‘Yes.’

‘The other principal, you say, has absconded, ma’am?’

‘Yes,’ replied Miss Witherfield, with a short cough.

‘Very well,’ said the magistrate. ‘These are two cut-throats from

London, who have come down here to destroy his Majesty’s

population, thinking that at this distance from the capital, the arm

of the law is weak and paralysed. They shall be made an example

of. Draw up the warrants, Mr. Jinks. Muzzle!’

‘Yes, your Worship.’

‘Is Grummer downstairs?’

‘Yes, your Worship.’

‘Send him up.’ The obsequious Muzzle retired, and presently

returned, introducing the elderly gentleman in the top-boots, who

was chiefly remarkable for a bottle-nose, a hoarse voice, a snuff-

coloured surtout, and a wandering eye.

‘Grummer,’ said the magistrate.

‘Your wash-up.’

‘Is the town quiet now?’

‘Pretty well, your wash-up,’ replied Grummer. ‘Pop’lar feeling

has in a measure subsided, consekens o’ the boys having dispersed

to cricket.’

‘Nothing but vigorous measures will do in these times,

Grummer,’ said the magistrate, in a determined manner. ‘If the

authority of the king’s officers is set at naught, we must have the

riot act read. If the civil power cannot protect these windows,

Grummer, the military must protect the civil power, and the

windows too. I believe that is a maxim of the constitution, Mr.

Jinks?’

‘Certainly, sir,’ said Jinks.

‘Very good,’ said the magistrate, signing the warrants.

‘Grummer, you will bring these persons before me, this afternoon.

You will find them at the Great White Horse. You recollect the

case of the Middlesex Dumpling and the Suffolk Bantam,

Grummer?’

Mr. Grummer intimated, by a retrospective shake of the head,

that he should never forget it―as indeed it was not likely he

would, so long as it continued to be cited daily.

‘This is even more unconstitutional,’ said the magistrate; ‘this is

even a greater breach of the peace, and a grosser infringement of

his Majesty’s prerogative. I believe duelling is one of his Majesty’s

most undoubted prerogatives, Mr. Jinks?’

‘Expressly stipulated in Magna Charta, sir,’ said Mr. Jinks.

‘One of the brightest jewels in the British crown, wrung from

his Majesty by the barons, I believe, Mr. Jinks?’ said the

magistrate.

‘Just so, sir,’ replied Mr. Jinks.

‘Very well,’ said the magistrate, drawing himself up proudly, ‘it

shall not be violated in this portion of his dominions. Grummer,

procure assistance, and execute these warrants with as little delay

as possible. Muzzle!’

‘Yes, your Worship.’

‘Show the lady out.’

Miss Witherfield retired, deeply impressed with the

magistrate’s learning and research; Mr. Nupkins retired to lunch;

Mr. Jinks retired within himself―that being the only retirement

he had, except the sofa-bedstead in the small parlour which was

occupied by his landlady’s family in the daytime―and Mr.

Grummer retired, to wipe out, by his mode of discharging his

present commission, the insult which had been fastened upon

himself, and the other representative of his Majesty―the beadle―

in the course of the morning.

While these resolute and determined preparations for the

conservation of the king’s peace were pending, Mr. Pickwick and

his friends, wholly unconscious of the mighty events in progress,

had sat quietly down to dinner; and very talkative and

companionable they all were. Mr. Pickwick was in the very act of

relating his adventure of the preceding night, to the great

amusement of his followers, Mr. Tupman especially, when the

door opened, and a somewhat forbidding countenance peeped into

the room. The eyes in the forbidding countenance looked very

earnestly at Mr. Pickwick, for several seconds, and were to all

appearance satisfied with their investigation; for the body to which

the forbidding countenance belonged, slowly brought itself into

the apartment, and presented the form of an elderly individual in

top-boots―not to keep the reader any longer in suspense, in short,

the eyes were the wandering eyes of Mr. Grummer, and the body

was the body of the same gentleman.

Mr. Grummer’s mode of proceeding was professional, but

peculiar. His first act was to bolt the door on the inside; his

second, to polish his head and countenance very carefully with a

cotton handkerchief; his third, to place his hat, with the cotton

handkerchief in it, on the nearest chair; and his fourth, to produce

from the breast-pocket of his coat a short truncheon, surmounted

by a brazen crown, with which he beckoned to Mr. Pickwick with

a grave and ghost-like air.

Mr. Snodgrass was the first to break the astonished silence. He

looked steadily at Mr. Grummer for a brief space, and then said

emphatically, ‘This is a private room, sir. A private room.’

Mr. Grummer shook his head, and replied, ‘No room’s private

to his Majesty when the street door’s once passed. That’s law.

Some people maintains that an Englishman’s house is his castle.

That’s gammon.’

The Pickwickians gazed on each other with wondering eyes.

‘Which is Mr. Tupman?’ inquired Mr. Grummer. He had an

intuitive perception of Mr. Pickwick; he knew him at once.

‘My name’s Tupman,’ said that gentleman.

‘My name’s Law,’ said Mr. Grummer.

‘What?’ said Mr. Tupman.

‘Law,’ replied Mr. Grummer―‘Law, civil power, and exekative;

them’s my titles; here’s my authority. Blank Tupman, blank

Pickwick―against the peace of our sufferin’ lord the king―stattit

in the case made and purwided―and all regular. I apprehend you

Pickwick! Tupman―the aforesaid.’

‘What do you mean by this insolence?’ said Mr. Tupman,

starting up; ‘leave the room!’

‘Hollo,’ said Mr. Grummer, retreating very expeditiously to the

door, and opening it an inch or two, ‘Dubbley.’

‘Well,’ said a deep voice from the passage.

‘Come for’ard, Dubbley.’

At the word of command, a dirty-faced man, something over six

feet high, and stout in proportion, squeezed himself through the

half-open door (making his face very red in the process), and

entered the room.

‘Is the other specials outside, Dubbley?’ inquired Mr.

Grummer.

Mr. Dubbley, who was a man of few words, nodded assent.

‘Order in the diwision under your charge, Dubbley,’ said Mr.

Grummer.

Mr. Dubbley did as he was desired; and half a dozen men, each

with a short truncheon and a brass crown, flocked into the room.

Mr. Grummer pocketed his staff, and looked at Mr. Dubbley; Mr.

Dubbley pocketed his staff and looked at the division; the division

pocketed their staves and looked at Messrs. Tupman and

Pickwick.

Mr. Pickwick and his followers rose as one man.

‘What is the meaning of this atrocious intrusion upon my

privacy?’ said Mr. Pickwick.

‘Who dares apprehend me?’ said Mr. Tupman.

‘What do you want here, scoundrels?’ said Mr. Snodgrass.

Mr. Winkle said nothing, but he fixed his eyes on Grummer,

and bestowed a look upon him, which, if he had had any feeling,

must have pierced his brain. As it was, however, it had no visible

effect on him whatever.

When the executive perceived that Mr. Pickwick and his friends

were disposed to resist the authority of the law, they very

significantly turned up their coat sleeves, as if knocking them

down in the first instance, and taking them up afterwards, were a

mere professional act which had only to be thought of to be done,

as a matter of course. This demonstration was not lost upon Mr.

Pickwick. He conferred a few moments with Mr. Tupman apart,

and then signified his readiness to proceed to the mayor’s

residence, merely begging the parties then and there assembled,

to take notice, that it was his firm intention to resent this

monstrous invasion of his privileges as an Englishman, the instant

he was at liberty; whereat the parties then and there assembled

laughed very heartily, with the single exception of Mr. Grummer,

who seemed to consider that any slight cast upon the divine right

of magistrates was a species of blasphemy not to be tolerated.

But when Mr. Pickwick had signified his readiness to bow to

the laws of his country, and just when the waiters, and hostlers,

and chambermaids, and post-boys, who had anticipated a

delightful commotion from his threatened obstinacy, began to turn

away, disappointed and disgusted, a difficulty arose which had not

been foreseen. With every sentiment of veneration for the

constituted authorities, Mr. Pickwick resolutely protested against

making his appearance in the public streets, surrounded and

guarded by the officers of justice, like a common criminal. Mr.

Grummer, in the then disturbed state of public feeling (for it was

half-holiday, and the boys had not yet gone home), as resolutely

protested against walking on the opposite side of the way, and

taking Mr. Pickwick’s parole that he would go straight to the

magistrate’s; and both Mr. Pickwick and Mr. Tupman as

strenuously objected to the expense of a post-coach, which was the

only respectable conveyance that could be obtained. The dispute

ran high, and the dilemma lasted long; and just as the executive

were on the point of overcoming Mr. Pickwick’s objection to

walking to the magistrate’s, by the trite expedient of carrying him

thither, it was recollected that there stood in the inn yard, an old

sedan-chair, which, having been originally built for a gouty

gentleman with funded property, would hold Mr. Pickwick and

Mr. Tupman, at least as conveniently as a modern post-chaise. The

chair was hired, and brought into the hall; Mr. Pickwick and Mr.

Tupman squeezed themselves inside, and pulled down the blinds;

a couple of chairmen were speedily found; and the procession

started in grand order. The specials surrounded the body of the

vehicle; Mr. Grummer and Mr. Dubbley marched triumphantly in

front; Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle walked arm-in-arm behind;

and the unsoaped of Ipswich brought up the rear.

The shopkeepers of the town, although they had a very

indistinct notion of the nature of the offence, could not but be

much edified and gratified by this spectacle. Here was the strong

arm of the law, coming down with twenty gold-beater force, upon

two offenders from the metropolis itself; the mighty engine was

directed by their own magistrate, and worked by their own

officers; and both the criminals, by their united efforts, were

securely shut up, in the narrow compass of one sedan-chair. Many

were the expressions of approval and admiration which greeted

Mr. Grummer, as he headed the cavalcade, staff in hand; loud and

long were the shouts raised by the unsoaped; and amidst these

united testimonials of public approbation, the procession moved

slowly and majestically along.

Mr. Weller, habited in his morning jacket, with the black calico

sleeves, was returning in a rather desponding state from an

unsuccessful survey of the mysterious house with the green gate,

when, raising his eyes, he beheld a crowd pouring down the street,

surrounding an object which had very much the appearance of a

sedan-chair. Willing to divert his thoughts from the failure of his

enterprise, he stepped aside to see the crowd pass; and finding

that they were cheering away, very much to their own satisfaction,

forthwith began (by way of raising his spirits) to cheer too, with all

his might and main.

Mr. Grummer passed, and Mr. Dubbley passed, and the sedan

passed, and the bodyguard of specials passed, and Sam was still

responding to the enthusiastic cheers of the mob, and waving his

hat about as if he were in the very last extreme of the wildest joy

(though, of course, he had not the faintest idea of the matter in

hand), when he was suddenly stopped by the unexpected

appearance of Mr. Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass.

‘What’s the row, gen’l’m’n?’ cried Sam. ‘Who have they got in

this here watch-box in mournin’?’

Both gentlemen replied together, but their words were lost in

the tumult.

‘Who is it?’ cried Sam again.

once more was a joint reply returned; and, though the words

were inaudible, Sam saw by the motion of the two pairs of lips that

they had uttered the magic word ‘Pickwick.’

This was enough. In another minute Mr. Weller had made his

way through the crowd, stopped the chairmen, and confronted the

portly Grummer.

‘Hollo, old gen’l’m’n!’ said Sam. ‘Who have you got in this here

conweyance?’

‘Stand back,’ said Mr. Grummer, whose dignity, like the dignity

of a great many other men, had been wondrously augmented by a

little popularity.

‘Knock him down, if he don’t,’ said Mr. Dubbley.

‘I’m wery much obliged to you, old gen’l’m’n,’ replied Sam, ‘for

consulting my conwenience, and I’m still more obliged to the other

gen’l’m’n, who looks as if he’d just escaped from a giant’s

carrywan, for his wery ’andsome suggestion; but I should prefer

your givin’ me a answer to my question, if it’s all the same to

you.―How are you, sir?’ This last observation was addressed with

a patronising air to Mr. Pickwick, who was peeping through the

front window.

Mr. Grummer, perfectly speechless with indignation, dragged

the truncheon with the brass crown from its particular pocket, and

flourished it before Sam’s eyes.

‘Ah,’ said Sam, ‘it’s wery pretty, ’specially the crown, which is

uncommon like the real one.’

‘Stand back!’ said the outraged Mr. Grummer. By way of

adding force to the command, he thrust the brass emblem of

royalty into Sam’s neckcloth with one hand, and seized Sam’s

collar with the other―a compliment which Mr. Weller returned by

knocking him down out of hand, having previously with the

utmost consideration, knocked down a chairman for him to lie

upon.

Whether Mr. Winkle was seized with a temporary attack of that

species of insanity which originates in a sense of injury, or

animated by this display of Mr. Weller’s valour, is uncertain; but

certain it is, that he no sooner saw Mr. Grummer fall than he made

a terrific onslaught on a small boy who stood next him; whereupon

Mr. Snodgrass, in a truly Christian spirit, and in order that he

might take no one unawares, announced in a very loud tone that

he was going to begin, and proceeded to take off his coat with the

utmost deliberation. He was immediately surrounded and

secured; and it is but common justice both to him and Mr. Winkle

to say, that they did not make the slightest attempt to rescue

either themselves or Mr. Weller; who, after a most vigorous

resistance, was overpowered by numbers and taken prisoner. The

procession then reformed; the chairmen resumed their stations;

and the march was re-commenced.

Mr. Pickwick’s indignation during the whole of this proceeding

was beyond all bounds. He could just see Sam upsetting the

specials, and flying about in every direction; and that was all he

could see, for the sedan doors wouldn’t open, and the blinds

wouldn’t pull up. At length, with the assistance of Mr. Tupman, he

managed to push open the roof; and mounting on the seat, and

steadying himself as well as he could, by placing his hand on that

gentleman’s shoulder, Mr. Pickwick proceeded to address the

multitude; to dwell upon the unjustifiable manner in which he had

been treated; and to call upon them to take notice that his servant

had been first assaulted. In this order they reached the

magistrate’s house; the chairmen trotting, the prisoners following,

Mr. Pickwick oratorising, and the crowd shouting.

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