Pickwick Abroad: or, The Tour in France — page 58: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Pickwick Abroad. 29 Somehow or another, on this night, Mr. Weller was the most docile creature breathing. He did not utter a single complaint nor murmur against the harsh and rigorous treatment he was receiving; a strange necessity seemed to urge him on to fulfil without reluctance those duties which his present destiny was apparently bent upon imposing on him. Such was his stoical courage in misfortune, on the present occasion, that he actually swung the lamp to the mast-head without a regret at his hard fate; and having once more cast a momentary glance at the dark waves which surrounded the vessel, he returned to the stern-cabin, where he had left the old man. A tolerably good supper was spread upon the table, and the old entleman was making most frightful havoc with the viands before Fim. He despatched two pounds of boiled pork in the twinkling of an eye, ate a similar weight of pease-pudding, and drank offa bottle of porter at a draught. He then helped himself to bread and cheese in roportion, and ever and anon regaled his nose with a pinch of snuff m the barrel near him. Animated with a very praiseworthy spirit of emulation, Mr. Weller commenced an equally vigorous attack upon the comestibles that were ranged upon the table; and so soon as the old man had entirely satis- fied the cravings of his appetite, a task not so easily accomplished as some people might imagine, he addressed Mr. Weller as follows :— “ My dear Samuel—for such I know to be your name—listen to the sad history of the most unfortunate man that ever existed.”’ ‘“*T vill, vith wery great pleasure,” returned Mr. Weller, smiling as he called to mind the supper eaten by the most unfortunate man that ever lived: “‘ but, p’raps, you’d a-better take another cut o’ the biled pork, or von more pull at that ere svipe-pot, afore you commences your narrative. Pray, consider, my dear Sir, that you ain’t made a over excellent repast.” “Nor more I have,” answered the old man very seriously: ‘ but it is my misery that takes away my appetite.” “It must be wery great, sure-ly,” observed Mr. Weller, bolting a cubic inch of boiled pork; “ wery great, indeed.” ‘So it is,” returned the old man; “but if you will only let me speak, you shall judge for yourself. You must know that my name is Dibble, and that I am well connected with the first families in Kent. When the fleet was in the Downs, in 1815, I was hanged for mutiny, at the yard-arm of the ship in which I served.” ‘But you vos brought ¢o, agin, though,” interrupted Mr. Weller, nodding facetiously at his companion. ‘“¢ Indeed I was not, though,” said that gentleman; “I died as quietly and calmly as ever a well-bred man did, who was obliged to make his extt from this world in a similar manner,” ‘And you mean to pretend for to insinivate that you aint alive, do ye, old feller?’ observed Mr. Weller with increased jocularity. ‘He who says I am alive, tells a lie, Sir,” cried the little man, his pale face glowing with rage and indignation. “Vell, vell,” said Sam, very quietly burying his head in a Jug of porter, ‘* ve von’t have no vords about that ’ere, perwided ve under- stands each other—that’s all. So, peg avay, old feller; although it is rayther suspicious, as the young lady said ven she found her cat’s tail in the weal-pie.” : COL (©) DGe (c@