Charles Dickens - Life And Adventures Of Martin Chuzzlewit

With all his various duties of attendance upon Martin (who became the more exacting in his claims, the worse he grew), Mark worked out of doors, early and late; and with the assistance of his friend and others, laboured to do something with their land. Not that he had the least strength of heart or hope, or steady purpose in so doing, beyond the habitual cheerfulness of his disposition, and his amazing power of self-sustainment; for within himself, he looked on their condition as beyond all hope, and, in his own words, “came out strong” in consequence.

“As to coming out as strong as I could wish, sir,” he confided to Martin in a leisure moment; that is to say, one evening, while he was washing the linen of the establishment, after a hard day's work, “that I give up. It's a piece of good fortune as never is to happen to me, I see!”

“Would you wish for circumstances stronger than these?” Martin retorted with a groan, from underneath his blanket.

“Why, only see how easy they might have been stronger, sir,” said Mark, “if it wasn't for the envy of that uncommon fortun of mine, which is always after me, and tripping me up. The night we landed here, I thought things did look pretty jolly. I won't deny it. I thought they did look pretty jolly.”

“How do they look now?” groaned Martin.

“Ah!” said Mark, “Ah, to be sure. That's the question. How do they look now? On the very first morning of my going out, what do I do? Stumble on a family I know, who are constantly assisting of us in all sorts of ways, from that time to this! That won't do, you know; that ain't what I'd a right to expect. If I had stumbled on a serpent and got bit; or stumbled on a first-rate patriot, and got bowie-knifed, or stumbled on a lot of Sympathisers with inverted shirt-collars, and got made a lion of; I might have distinguished myself, and earned some credit. As it is, the great object of my voyage is knocked on the head. So it would be, wherever I went. How do you feel to-night, sir?”

“Worse than ever,” said poor Martin.

“That's something,” returned Mark, “but not enough. Nothing but being very bad myself, and jolly to the last, will ever do me justice.”

“In Heaven's name, don't talk of that,” said Martin with a thrill of terror. “What should I do, Mark, if you were taken ill!”

Mr Tapley's spirits appeared to be stimulated by this remark, although it was not a very flattering one. He proceeded with his washing in a brighter mood; and observed “that his glass was arising.”

“There's one good thing in this place, sir,” said Mr Tapley, scrubbing away at the linen, “as disposes me to be jolly; and that is that it's a reg'lar little United States in itself. There's two or three American settlers left; and they coolly comes over one, even here, sir, as if it was the wholesomest and loveliest spot in the world. But they're like the cock that went and hid himself to save his life, and was found out by the noise he made. They can't help crowing. They was born to do it, and do it they must, whatever comes of it.”

Glancing from his work out at the door as he said these words, Mark's eyes encountered a lean person in a blue frock and a straw hat, with a short black pipe in his mouth, and a great hickory stick studded all over with knots, in his hand; who smoking and chewing as he came along, and spitting frequently, recorded his progress by a train of decomposed tobacco on the ground.

“Here's one on “em,” cried Mark, “Hannibal Chollop.”

“Don't let him in,” said Martin, feebly.

“He won't want any letting in,” replied Mark. “He'll come in, sir.”Which turned out to be quite true, for he did. His face was almost as hard and knobby as his stick; and so were his hands. His head was like an old black hearth-broom. He sat down on the chest with his hat on; and crossing his legs and looking up at Mark, said, without removing his pipe:

“Well, Mr Co.! and how do you git along, sir?”

It may be necessary to observe that Mr Tapley had gravely introduced himself to all strangers, by that name.

“Pretty well, sir; pretty well,” said Mark.

“If this ain't Mr Chuzzlewit, ain't it!” exclaimed the visitor “How do YOU git along, sir?”

Martin shook his head, and drew the blanket over it involuntarily; for he felt that Hannibal was going to spit; and his eye, as the song says, was upon him.

“You need not regard me, sir,” observed Mr Chollop, complacently. “I am fever-proof, and likewise agur.”

“Mine was a more selfish motive,” said Martin, looking out again. “I was afraid you were going to—”

“I can calc'late my distance, sir,” returned Mr Chollop, “to an inch.”

With a proof of which happy faculty he immediately favoured him.

“I re-quire, sir,” said Hannibal, “two foot clear in a circ'lar direction, and can engage my-self toe keep within it. I HAVE gone ten foot, in a circ'lar di-rection, but that was for a wager.”

“I hope you won it, sir,” said Mark.

“Well, sir, I realised the stakes,” said Chollop. “Yes, sir.”

He was silent for a time, during which he was actively engaged in the formation of a magic circle round the chest on which he sat. When it was completed, he began to talk again.

“How do you like our country, sir?” he inquired, looking at Martin.

“Not at all,” was the invalid's reply.

Chollop continued to smoke without the least appearance of emotion, until he felt disposed to speak again. That time at length arriving, he took his pipe from his mouth, and said:

“I am not surprised to hear you say so. It re-quires An elevation, and A preparation of the intellect. The mind of man must be prepared for Freedom, Mr Co.”

He addressed himself to Mark; because he saw that Martin, who wished him to go, being already half-mad with feverish irritation, which the droning voice of this new horror rendered almost insupportable, had closed his eyes, and turned on his uneasy bed.

“A little bodily preparation wouldn't be amiss, either, would it, sir,” said Mark, “in the case of a blessed old swamp like this?”

“Do you con-sider this a swamp, sir?” inquired Chollop gravely.

“Why yes, sir,” returned Mark. “I haven't a doubt about it myself.”

“The sentiment is quite Europian,” said the major, “and does not surprise me; what would your English millions say to such a swamp in England, sir?”

“They'd say it was an uncommon nasty one, I should think, said Mark; “and that they would rather be inoculated for fever in some other way.”

“Europian!” remarked Chollop, with sardonic pity. “Quite Europian!”

And there he sat. Silent and cool, as if the house were his; smoking away like a factory chimney.

Mr Chollop was, of course, one of the most remarkable men in the country; but he really was a notorious person besides. He was usually described by his friends, in the South and West, as “a splendid sample of our na-tive raw material, sir,” and was much esteemed for his devotion to rational Liberty; for the better propagation whereof he usually carried a brace of revolving pistols in his coat pocket, with seven barrels a-piece. He also carried, amongst other trinkets, a sword-stick, which he called his “Tickler.”and a great knife, which (for he was a man of a pleasant turn of humour) he called “Ripper,” in allusion to its usefulness as a means of ventilating the stomach of any adversary in a close contest. He had used these weapons with distinguished effect in several instances, all duly chronicled in the newspapers; and was greatly beloved for the gallant manner in which he had “jobbed out” the eye of one gentleman, as he was in the act of knocking at his own street-door.

Mr Chollop was a man of a roving disposition; and, in any less advanced community, might have been mistaken for a violent vagabond. But his fine qualities being perfectly understood and appreciated in those regions where his lot was cast, and where he had many kindred spirits to consort with, he may be regarded as having been born under a fortunate star, which is not always the case with a man so much before the age in which he lives. Preferring, with a view to the gratification of his tickling and ripping fancies, to dwell upon the outskirts of society, and in the more remote towns and cities, he was in the habit of emigrating from place to place, and establishing in each some business—usually a newspaper—which he presently sold; for the most part closing the bargain by challenging, stabbing, pistolling, or gouging the new editor, before he had quite taken possession of the property.