The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club, v. 2 (of 2) Page 14

  CHAPTER XII

  _Introduces Mr. Pickwick to a New and not uninteresting Scene in the great Drama of Life_

  The remainder of the period which Mr. Pickwick had assigned as theduration of the stay at Bath, passed over without the occurrence ofanything material. Trinity Term commenced. On the expiration of itsfirst week, Mr. Pickwick and his friends returned to London; and theformer gentleman, attended of course by Sam, straightway repaired tohis old quarters at the George and Vulture.

  On the third morning after their arrival, just as all the clocks in thecity were striking nine individually, and somewhere about nine hundredand ninety-nine collectively, Sam was taking the air in George Yard,when a queer sort of fresh-painted vehicle drove up, out of which therejumped with great agility, throwing the reins to a stout man who satbeside him, a queer sort of gentleman, who seemed made for the vehicle,and the vehicle for him.

  The vehicle was not exactly a gig, neither was it a stanhope. Itwas not what is currently denominated a dog-cart, neither was it ataxed-cart, not a chaise-cart, nor a guillotined cabriolet; and yet ithad something of the character of each and every of these machines.It was painted a bright yellow, with the shafts and wheels pickedout in black; and the driver sat, in the orthodox sporting style,on cushions piled about two feet above the rail. The horse was abay, a well-looking animal enough; but with something of a flash anddog-fighting air about him, nevertheless, which accorded both with thevehicle and his master.

  The master himself was a man of about forty, with black hair, andcarefully combed whiskers. He was dressed in a particularly gorgeousmanner, with plenty of articles of jewellery about him--all about threesizes larger than those which are usually worn by gentlemen--and arough great-coat to crown the whole. Into one pocket of his great-coathe thrust his left hand the moment he dismounted, while from theother he drew forth, with his right, a very bright and glaring silkhandkerchief, with which he whisked a speck or two of dust from hisboots, and then, crumpling it in his hand, swaggered up the court.

  It had not escaped Sam's attention that, when this person dismounted, ashabby-looking man in a brown great-coat shorn of divers buttons, whohad been previously slinking about, on the opposite side of the way,crossed over, and remained stationary close by. Having something morethan a suspicion of the object of the gentleman's visit, Sam precededhim to the George and Vulture, and turning sharp round, planted himselfin the centre of the doorway.

  "Now, my fine fellow!" said the man in the rough coat, in an imperioustone, attempting at the same time to push his way past.

  "Now, sir, wot's the matter!" replied Sam, returning the push withcompound interest.

  "Come, none of this, my man; this won't do with me," said the owner ofthe rough coat, raising his voice, and turning white. "Here, Smouch!"

  "Well, wot's amiss here?" growled the man in the brown coat, who hadbeen gradually sneaking up the court during this short dialogue.

  "Only some insolence of this young man's," said the principal, givingSam another push.

  "Come, none o' this gammon," growled Smouch, giving him another, and aharder one.

  This last push had the effect which it was intended by the experiencedMr. Smouch to produce; for while Sam, anxious to return the compliment,was grinding that gentleman's body against the doorpost, the principalcrept past, and made his way to the bar: whither Sam, after bandying afew epithetical remarks with Mr. Smouch, followed at once.

  "Good morning, my dear," said the principal, addressing the young ladyat the bar, with Botany Bay ease, and New South Wales gentility; "whichis Mr. Pickwick's room, my dear?"

  "Show him up," said the barmaid to a waiter, without deigning anotherlook at the exquisite, in reply to his inquiry.

  The waiter led the way up-stairs as he was desired, and the man in therough coat followed, with Sam behind him: who, in his progress up thestaircase, indulged in sundry gestures indicative of supreme contemptand defiance: to the unspeakable gratification of the servants andother lookers-on. Mr. Smouch, who was troubled with a hoarse cough,remained below, and expectorated in the passage.

  Mr. Pickwick was fast asleep in bed, when his early visitor, followedby Sam, entered the room. The noise they made, in so doing, awoke him.

  "Shaving water, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, from within the curtains.

  "Shave you directly, Mr. Pickwick," said the visitor, drawing one ofthem back from the bed's head. "I've got an execution against you, atthe suit of Bardell.--Here's the warrant.--Common Pleas.--Here's mycard. I suppose you'll come over to my house." Giving Mr. Pickwick afriendly tap on the shoulder, the sheriff's officer (for such he was)threw his card on the counterpane, and pulled a gold toothpick from hiswaistcoat pocket.

  "Namby's the name," said the sheriff's deputy, as Mr. Pickwick took hisspectacles from under the pillow, and put them on, to read the card."Namby, Bell Alley, Coleman Street."

  At this point Sam Weller, who had had his eyes fixed hitherto on Mr.Namby's shining beaver, interfered:

  "Are you a Quaker?" said Sam.

  "I'll let you know who I am, before I've done with you," replied theindignant officer. "I'll teach you manners, my fine fellow, one ofthese fine mornings."

  "Thankee," said Sam. "I'll do the same to you. Take your hat off." Withthis, Mr. Weller, in the most dexterous manner, knocked Mr. Namby's hatto the other side of the room: with such violence, that he had verynearly caused him to swallow the gold toothpick into the bargain.

  "_Take your hat off_"]

  "Observe this, Mr. Pickwick," said the disconcerted officer, gaspingfor breath. "I've been assaulted in the execution of my dooty by yourservant in your chamber. I'm in bodily fear. I call you to witnessthis."

  "Don't witness nothin', sir," interposed Sam. "Shut your eyes uptight, sir. I'd pitch him out o' winder, only he couldn't fall farenough, 'cause o' the leads outside."

  "Sam," said Mr. Pickwick in an angry voice, as the attendant madevarious demonstrations of hostilities, "if you say another word, oroffer the slightest interference with this person, I discharge you thatinstant."

  "But, sir!" said Sam.

  "Hold your tongue," interposed Mr. Pickwick. "Take that hat up again."

  But this Sam flatly and positively refused to do; and, after he hadbeen severely reprimanded by his master, the officer, being in ahurry, condescended to pick it up himself: venting a great varietyof threats against Sam meanwhile, which that gentleman received withperfect composure: merely observing that if Mr. Namby would have thegoodness to put his hat on again, he would knock it into the latterend of next week. Mr. Namby, perhaps thinking that such a processmight be productive of inconvenience to himself, declined to offer thetemptation, and, soon after, called up Smouch. Having informed him thatthe capture was made, and that he was to wait for the prisoner untilhe should have finished dressing, Namby then swaggered out, and droveaway. Smouch, requesting Mr. Pickwick in a surly manner "to be as aliveas he could, for it was a busy time," drew up a chair by the door, andsat there, until he had finished dressing. Sam was then despatched fora hackney-coach, and in it the triumvirate proceeded to Coleman Street.It was fortunate the distance was short; for Mr. Smouch, besidespossessing no very enchanting conversational powers, was rendered adecidedly unpleasant companion in a limited space, by the physicalweakness to which we have elsewhere adverted.

  The coach having turned into a very narrow and dark street, stoppedbefore a house with iron bars to all the windows; the door-posts ofwhich were graced by the name and title of "Namby, Officer to theSheriffs of London:" the inner gate having been opened by a gentlemanwho might have passed for a neglected twin brother of Mr. Smouch, andwho was endowed with a large key for the purpose, Mr. Pickwick wasshown into the "coffee-room."

  This coffee-room was a front parlour: the principal features ofwhich were fresh sand and stale tobacco smoke. Mr. Pickwick bowed tothe three persons who were seated in it when he entered and havingdespatched Sam for Perker, withdrew into an obscure corner, and fromthence looked with s
ome curiosity upon his new companions.

  One of these was a mere boy of nineteen or twenty, who, though itwas yet barely ten o'clock, was drinking gin and water, and smokinga cigar: amusements to which, judging from his inflamed countenance,he had devoted himself pretty constantly for the last year or two ofhis life. Opposite him, engaged in stirring the fire with the toe ofhis right boot, was a coarse vulgar young man of about thirty, with asallow face and harsh voice: evidently possessed of that knowledge ofthe world, and captivating freedom of manner, which is to be acquiredin public-house parlours, and at low billiard-tables. The third tenantof the apartment was a middle-aged man in a very old suit of black, wholooked pale and haggard, and paced up and down the room incessantly:stopping, now and then, to look with great anxiety out of the window asif he expected somebody, and then resuming his walk.

  "You'd better have the loan of my razor this morning, Mr. Ayresleigh,"said the man who was stirring the fire, tipping the wink to his friendthe boy.

  "Thank you, no, I shan't want it; I expect I shall be out in the courseof an hour or so," replied the other in a hurried manner. Then, walkingagain up to the window, and once more returning disappointed, he sigheddeeply, and left the room; upon which the other two burst into a loudlaugh.

  "Well, I never saw such a game as that," said the gentleman who hadoffered the razor, whose name appeared to be Price. "Never!" Mr. Priceconfirmed the assertion with an oath, and then laughed again, whenof course the boy (who thought his companion one of the most dashingfellows alive) laughed also.

  "You'd hardly think, would you now," said Price, turning towards Mr.Pickwick, "that that chap's been here a week yesterday, and never onceshaved himself yet, because he feels so certain he's going out in halfan hour's time, that he thinks he may as well put it off till he getshome?"

  "Poor man!" said Mr. Pickwick. "Are his chances of getting out of hisdifficulties really so great?"

  "Chances be d--d," replied Price; "he hasn't half the ghost of one.I wouldn't give _that_ for his chance of walking about the streetsthis time ten years." With this Mr. Price snapped his fingerscontemptuously, and rang the bell.

  "Give me a sheet of paper, Crookey," said Mr. Price to the attendant,who in dress and general appearance looked something between a bankruptgrazier, and a drover in a state of insolvency; "and a glass of brandyand water, Crookey, d'ye hear? I'm going to write to my father, and Imust have a stimulant, or I shan't be able to pitch it strong enoughinto the old boy." At this facetious speech, the young boy, it isalmost needless to say, was fairly convulsed.

  "That's right," said Mr. Price. "Never say die. All fun, ain't it?"

  "Prime!" said the young gentleman.

  "You've some spirit about you, you have," said Price. "You've seensomething of life."

  "I rather think I have!" replied the boy. He had looked at it throughthe dirty panes of glass in a bar door.

  Mr. Pickwick feeling not a little disgusted with this dialogue, aswell as with the air and manner of the two beings by whom it had beencarried on, was about to inquire whether he could not be accommodatedwith a private sitting-room, when two or three strangers of genteelappearance entered, at sight of whom the boy threw his cigar into thefire, and whispering to Mr. Price that they had come to "make it allright" for him, joined them at a table in the further end of the room.

  It would appear, however, that matters were not going to be made allright quite so speedily as the young gentleman anticipated; for avery long conversation ensued, of which Mr. Pickwick could not avoidhearing certain fragments regarding dissolute conduct, and repeatedforgiveness. At last there were very distinct allusions made by theoldest gentleman of the party to one Whitecross Street, at which theyoung gentleman, notwithstanding his primeness and his spirit, and hisknowledge of life into the bargain, reclined his head upon the table,and howled dismally.

  Very much satisfied with this sudden bringing down of the youth'svalour, and this effectual lowering of his tone, Mr. Pickwick rang thebell, and was shown, at his own request, into a private room furnishedwith a carpet, table, chairs, sideboard, and sofa, and ornamented witha looking-glass, and various old prints. Here he had the advantage ofhearing Mrs. Namby's performance on a square piano overhead, while thebreakfast was getting ready; when it came, Mr. Perker came too.

  "Aha, my dear sir," said the little man, "nailed at last, eh? Come,come, I'm not sorry for it either, because now you'll see the absurdityof this conduct. I've noted down the amount of the taxed costs anddamages for which the _ca-sa_ was issued, and we had better settle atonce and lose no time. Namby is come home by this time, I dare say.What say you, my dear sir? Shall I draw a cheque, or will you?" Thelittle man rubbed his hands with affected cheerfulness as he said this,but glancing at Mr. Pickwick's countenance, could not forbear at thesame time casting a desponding look towards Sam Weller.

  "Perker," said Mr. Pickwick, "let me hear no more of this, I beg. I seeno advantage in staying here, so I shall go to prison to-night."

  "You can't go to Whitecross Street, my dear sir," said Perker."Impossible! There are sixty beds in a ward; and the bolt's on sixteenhours out of the four-and-twenty."

  "I would rather go to some other place of confinement if I can," saidMr. Pickwick. "If not, I must make the best I can of that."

  "You can go to the Fleet, my dear sir, if you're determined to gosomewhere," said Perker.

  "That'll do," said Mr. Pickwick. "I'll go there directly I havefinished my breakfast."

  "Stop, stop, my dear sir; not the least occasion for being in such aviolent hurry to get into a place that most other men are as eager toget out of," said the good-natured little attorney. "We must have a_habeas corpus_. There'll be no judge at chambers till four o'clockthis afternoon. You must wait till then."

  "Very good," said Mr. Pickwick, with unmoved patience. "Then we willhave a chop, here, at two. See about it, Sam, and tell them to bepunctual."

  Mr. Pickwick remaining firm, despite all the remonstrances andarguments of Perker, the chops appeared and disappeared in due course;he was then put into another hackney-coach, and carried off to ChanceryLane, after waiting half an hour or so for Mr. Namby, who had a selectdinner-party and could on no account be disturbed before.

  There were two judges in attendance at Serjeant's Inn--one King'sBench, and one Common Pleas--and a great deal of business appearedto be transacting before them, if the number of lawyers' clerks whowere hurrying in and out with bundles of papers, afforded any test.When they reached the low archway which forms the entrance to the Inn,Perker was detained a few moments parleying with the coachman about thefare and the change; and Mr. Pickwick, stepping to one side to be outof the way of the stream of people that were pouring in and out, lookedabout him with some curiosity.

  The people that attracted his attention most, were three or fourmen of shabby-genteel appearance, who touched their hats to manyof the attorneys who passed, and seemed to have some businessthere, the nature of which Mr. Pickwick could not divine. They werecurious-looking fellows. One was a slim and rather lame man in rustyblack, and a white neckerchief; another was a stout burly person,dressed in the same apparel, with a great reddish-black cloth round hisneck; a third was a little weazen drunken-looking body, with a pimplyface. They were loitering about, with their hands behind them, and nowand then with an anxious countenance whispered something in the ear ofsome of the gentlemen with papers, as they hurried by. Mr. Pickwickremembered to have very often observed them lounging under the archwaywhen he had been walking past; and his curiosity was quite excited toknow to what branch of the profession these dingy-looking loungerscould possibly belong.

  He was about to propound the question to Namby, who kept close besidehim, sucking a large gold ring on his little finger, when Perkerbustled up, and observing that there was no time to lose, led theway into the Inn. As Mr. Pickwick followed, the lame man stepped upto him, and civilly touching his hat, held out a written card, whichMr. Pickwick, not wishing to hurt the man's feelings by refusing,courteo
usly accepted and deposited in his waistcoat pocket.

  "Now," said Perker, turning round before he entered one of the offices,to see that his companions were close behind him. "In here, my dearsir. Hallo, what do _you_ want?"

  This last question was addressed to the lame man, who, unobserved byMr. Pickwick, made one of the party. In reply to it, the lame mantouched his hat again, with all imaginable politeness, and motionedtowards Mr. Pickwick.

  "No, no," said Perker, with a smile. "We don't want you, my dearfriend, we don't want you."

  "I beg your pardon, sir," said the lame man. "The gentleman took mycard. I hope you will employ me, sir. The gentleman nodded to me. I'llbe judged by the gentleman himself. You nodded to me, sir?"

  "Pooh, pooh, nonsense. You didn't nod to anybody, Pickwick? A mistake,a mistake," said Perker.

  "The gentleman handed me his card," replied Mr. Pickwick, producing itfrom his waistcoat pocket. "I accepted it, as the gentleman seemed towish it--in fact I had some curiosity to look at it when I should be atleisure. I----"

  The little attorney burst into a loud laugh, and returning the cardto the lame man, informing him it was all a mistake, whispered to Mr.Pickwick as the man turned away in dudgeon, that he was only a bail.

  "A what!" exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.

  "A bail," replied Perker.

  "A bail!"

  "Yes, my dear sir--half a dozen of 'em here. Bail you to any amount,and only charge half-a-crown. Curious trade, isn't it?" said Perker,regaling himself with a pinch of snuff.

  "What! Am I to understand that these men earn a livelihood by waitingabout here, to perjure themselves before the judges of the land, atthe rate of half-a-crown a crime!" exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, quite aghastat the disclosure.

  "Why, I don't exactly know about perjury, my dear sir," replied thelittle gentleman. "Harsh word, my dear sir, very harsh word indeed.It's a legal fiction, my dear sir, nothing more." Saying which theattorney shrugged his shoulders, smiled, took a second pinch of snuff,and led the way into the office of the judge's clerk.

  This was a room of specially dirty appearance, with a very low ceilingand old panelled walls; and so badly lighted, that although it wasbroad day outside, great tallow candles were burning on the desks. Atone end was a door leading to the judge's private apartment, roundwhich were congregated a crowd of attorneys and managing clerks, whowere called in, in the order in which their respective appointmentsstood upon the file. Every time this door was opened to let a partyout, the next party made a violent rush to get in; and, as in additionto the numerous dialogues which passed between the gentlemen who werewaiting to see the judge, a variety of personal squabbles ensuedbetween the greater part of those who had seen him, there was asmuch noise as could well be raised in an apartment of such confineddimensions.

  Nor were the conversations of these gentlemen the only sounds thatbroke upon the ear. Standing on a box behind a wooden bar at anotherend of the room, was a clerk in spectacles, who was "taking theaffidavits:" large batches of which were, from time to time, carriedinto the private room by another clerk for the judge's signature. Therewere a large number of attorneys' clerks to be sworn, and it being amoral impossibility to swear them all at once, the struggles of thesegentlemen to reach the clerk in spectacles, were like those of a crowdto get in at the pit door of a theatre when Gracious Majesty honours itwith its presence. Another functionary, from time to time, exercisedhis lungs in calling over the names of those who had been sworn, forthe purpose of restoring to them their affidavits after they had beensigned by the judge: which gave rise to a few more scuffles; and allthese things going on at the same time, occasioned as much bustle asthe most active and excitable person could desire to behold. Therewere yet another class of persons--those who were waiting to attendsummonses their employers had taken out, which it was optional to theattorney on the opposite side to attend or not--and whose business itwas, from time to time, to cry out the opposite attorney's name; tomake certain that he was not in attendance without their knowledge.

  For example. Leaning against the wall, close beside the seat Mr.Pickwick had taken, was an office-lad of fourteen, with a tenor voice;near him, a common-law clerk with a bass one.

  A clerk hurried in with a bundle of papers, and stared about him.

  "Sniggle and Blink," cried the tenor.

  "Porkin and Snob," growled the bass.

  "Stumpy and Deacon," said the new comer.

  Nobody answered; the next man who came in, was hailed by the wholethree; and he in his turn shouted for another firm; and then somebodyelse roared in a loud voice for another; and so forth.

  All this time, the man in the spectacles was hard at work, swearing theclerks: the oath being invariably administered without any effort atthe punctuation, and usually in the following terms:

  "Take the book in your right hand this is your name and hand-writingyou swear that the contents of this your affidavit are true so help youGod a shilling you must get change I haven't got it."

  "Well, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, "I suppose they are getting the _habeascorpus_ ready."

  "Yes," said Sam, "and I vish they'd bring out the have-his-carcase.It's wery unpleasant keepin' us vaitin' here. I'd ha' got half a dozenhave-his-carcases ready, pack'd up and all, by this time."

  What sort of cumbrous and unmanageable machine Sam Weller imagined a_habeas corpus_ to be, does not appear; for Perker, at that moment,walked up, and took Mr. Pickwick away.

  The usual forms having been gone through, the body of Samuel Pickwickwas soon afterwards confided to the custody of the tipstaff, to be byhim taken to the Warden of the Fleet Prison, and there detained untilthe amount of the damages and costs in the action of Bardell againstPickwick was fully paid and satisfied.

  "And that," said Mr. Pickwick, laughing, "will be a very long time.Sam, call another hackney-coach. Perker, my dear friend, good-bye."

  "I shall go with you, and see you safe there," said Perker.

  "Indeed," replied Mr. Pickwick, "I would rather go without any otherattendant than Sam. As soon as I get settled, I will write and let youknow, and I shall expect you immediately. Until then, good-bye."

  As Mr. Pickwick said this, he got into the coach which had by this timearrived: followed by the tipstaff. Sam having stationed himself on thebox, it rolled away.

  "A most extraordinary man that!" said Perker, as he stopped to pull onhis gloves.

  "What a bankrupt he'd make, sir," observed Mr. Lowten, who was standingnear. "How he would bother the commissioners! He'd set 'em at defianceif they talked of committing him, sir."

  The attorney did not appear very much delighted with his clerk'sprofessional estimate of Mr. Pickwick's character, for he walked awaywithout deigning any reply.

  The hackney-coach jolted along Fleet Street, as hackney-coaches usuallydo. The horses "went better," the driver said, when they had anythingbefore them (they must have gone at a most extraordinary pace whenthere was nothing), and so the vehicle kept behind a cart; when thecart stopped, it stopped; and when the cart went on again, it did thesame. Mr. Pickwick sat opposite the tipstaff; and the tipstaff sat withhis hat between his knees, whistling a tune, and looking out of thecoach window.

  Time performs wonders. By the powerful old gentleman's aid, even ahackney-coach gets over half a mile of ground. They stopped at length,and Mr. Pickwick alighted at the gate of the Fleet.

  The tipstaff, looking over his shoulder to see that his charge wasfollowing close at his heels, preceded Mr. Pickwick into the prison;turning to the left, after they had entered, they passed through anopen door into a lobby, from which a heavy gate, opposite to that bywhich they had entered and which was guarded by a stout turnkey with akey in his hand, led at once into the interior of the prison.

  Here they stopped, while the tipstaff delivered his papers; and hereMr. Pickwick was apprised that he would remain, until he had undergonethe ceremony, known to the initiated as "sitting for your portrait."

  "Sitting for my portrait!" said Mr. Pick
wick.

  "Having your likeness taken, sir," replied the stout turnkey. "We'recapital hands at likenesses here. Take 'em in no time, and alwaysexact. Walk in, sir, and make yourself at home."

  Mr. Pickwick complied with the invitation, and sat himself down: andMr. Weller, who stationed himself at the back of the chair, whisperedthat the sitting was merely another term for undergoing an inspectionby the different turnkeys, in order that they might know prisoners fromvisitors.

  "Well, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, "then I wish the artists would come.This is rather a public place."

  "They von't be long, sir, I des-say," replied Sam. "There's a Dutchclock, sir."

  "So I see," observed Mr. Pickwick.

  "And a bird-cage, sir," said Sam. "Veels vithin veels, a prison in aprison. Ain't it, sir?"

  As Mr. Weller made this philosophical remark, Mr. Pickwick was awarethat the sitting had commenced. The stout turnkey having been relievedfrom the lock, sat down, and looked at him carelessly from time totime, while a long thin man who had relieved him, thrust his handsbeneath his coat-tails, and planting himself opposite, took a good longview of him. A third rather surly-looking gentleman: who had apparentlybeen disturbed at his tea, for he was disposing of the last remnantof a crust and butter when he came in: stationed himself close to Mr.Pickwick; and, resting his hands on his hips, inspected him narrowly;while two others mixed with the group, and studied his features withmost intent and thoughtful faces. Mr. Pickwick winced a good deal underthe operation, and appeared to sit very uneasily in his chair; but hemade no remark to anybody while it was being performed, not even toSam, who reclined upon the back of the chair, reflecting, partly on thesituation of his master, and partly on the great satisfaction it wouldhave afforded him to make a fierce assault upon all the turnkeys thereassembled, one after the other, if it were lawful and peaceable to doso.

  At length the likeness was completed, and Mr. Pickwick was informed,that he might now proceed into the prison.

  "Where am I to sleep to-night?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.

  "Why I don't rightly know about to-night," replied the stout turnkey."You'll be chummed on somebody to-morrow, and then you'll be all snugand comfortable. The first night's generally rather unsettled, butyou'll be set all squares to-morrow."

  After some discussion, it was discovered that one of the turnkeys hada bed to let, which Mr. Pickwick could have for that night. He gladlyagreed to hire it.

  "If you'll come with me, I'll show it you at once," said the man. "Itain't a large 'un; but it's an out-and-outer to sleep in. This way,sir."

  They passed through the inner gate, and descended a short flight ofsteps. The key was turned after them; and Mr. Pickwick found himself,for the first time in his life, within the walls of a debtor's prison.