University of Virginia Library

7. CHAPTER VII.
THE GAME INTERRUPTED BY THE NEWS OF A SUDDEN INVASION.

“Read that despatch for me, partner,” said Mr. Winkle,
passing a small square piece of paper across the table to Gusset.
It had just been brought in by one of Sergeant Blore's
messengers.

“Why don't you read it yourself?” asked Wilsome, lifting
her eyes from the cards in her hand.

“Because, sister, I left my glasses in my cabinet; and although
I can distinguish the knave of hearts without them, I
would find it difficult to decipher Blore's confounded crabbed
pencil scratches. And I doubt whether you could do it without

your spectacles, which I am sure you are ashamed to wear
in company.”

“I am not ashamed, brother.”

Gusset reads: “The old boar and a flock of crows are
eating the dead horse in the north fields.”

“What does that mean, brother?” demanded Miss Wilsome.

“It means that the Russians and the Cossacks are nibbling
again at the Pole. No matter, so they don't disturb
Saxony. Such is my answer.”

As the game proceeded, the following additional notes
were received, and read by the milliner, while Mr. Lowe, with
much difficulty, preserved his gravity.

“The Billy goats are fighting again on the hill.”

“The Swiss!” said Mr. Winkle. “The cantons are
never quiet. They will have to be absorbed. Tell Blore
to have them chastised, and warned. He may fire a few platoons
with blank cartridge.”

After this a long silence ensured, and Gusset played a
great many trumps, which, with the four honors she held,
won the game.

“It is my turn to shuffle. There will be no more such
hands!” said Miss Wilsome, casting an ill-natured glance at
the milliner. It is game and game. This time we will win
the rubber.”

And it seemed that the prediction so confidently made,
was about to be fulfilled; for the first hand won nine tricks.
The honors were divided between Miss Wilsome and her partner,
as well as all the valuable cards.

It was just when Miss Wilsome was exulting over such
signal success, and anticipating a speedy triumph, that one of
the sentinels ran in and made the following announcement,
which he said the sergeant did not have time to write:

“The bull's swam across the slough, sir, and is trying to
get into the orchard among the cows.”

“We are invaded! The British! The British!” cried
the old man, leaping up and overturning the table. “My
these! My horse!” he continued, rushing out upon the lawn.
“Bring up the guards! Sound the alarm! To the field! Follow
me, soldiers! The enemy is upon our soil!”

Consternation prevailed. The drum beat to arms, and
the sentinels fired their muskets; and before Miss Wilsome

had sufficiently recovered from her paroxysm of passion to
utter a word, her excited brother was in the saddle, and galloping
towards the enemy, at the head of a small party of his
retainers. They soon reached the scene of the invasion, which
was plainly in view from the pavilion, and where Lucy was
joined by her aunt and her partner, as well as by Gusset.

The orchard fence ran parallel with the narrow sheet of
water which separated France from England, as laid down on
Mr. Winkle's map. The latter country, a marsh meadow, was
usually inhabited by the bull, but he was occasionally in the
habit of making incursions upon the neighboring tracts.

The enormous animal was now throwing up the earth with
his feet, and bellowing fearfully, while the herd of cows and
heifers within the inclosure, so far from being alarmed at
his presence, had drawn nearer to the fence which separated
them.

On rushed Napoleon, followed by his little band of heroes.
But, fearless and obedient as they had often proved on other occasions,
they faltered on this, when they perceived, that instead
of being panic-stricken, the bull faced about and coolly awaited
the attack. Turning his head, and seeing the hesitation
among his followers, Winkle drew rein and ordered them to
come up. They did so very reluctantly.

“Soldiers!” said he, “let me not have cause to be offended
at your conduct this day. The eyes of my guests in yonder
pavilion are upon us!”

“But that dratted bull looks like he wanted to poke some
of us,” said one of the guard.

“What then?” exclaimed the furious Winkle. “Are victories
won without risk of wounds, and even death? Would
you purchase glory without paying its price in blood? I am
ashamed of you! Surrender your gun into the hands of that
boy in front. Retire in disgrace from the field. You are ignominiously
dismissed! Comrades,” he continued, “advance
and fire. And when you have discharged your guns, charge
yourselves upon the enemy. He will fly before you!”

They formed a line in front of the bull, extending from
the fence down the water's edge, and levelling their guns, fired
as they had been ordered. But when the smoke cleared away,
instead of seeing the bull in full retreat, they beheld him rushing
directly towards them, his head down, and his tail rampant
over his back. Winkle continued to spur forward, but

his followers took to their heels and fled away. Some leaped
the fence and climbed the apple trees, while others never
paused until they were under shelter of the castle. All threw
away their arms.

It must be owned that Winkle was not insensible to some
symptoms of trepidation when he beheld the great eyes of his
foe glaring upon him. But the eyes in the pavilion were upon
him also, and it would not do to fly; and although several instances
occurred to his mind wherein his great prototype had
embraced the means in his power to escape a sudden peril,
still he resolved to face the infuriated animal. Yet it should
not perhaps be denied, that he had some hope of a reconciliation
at the last moment, forgetting that the fatal affront had
already been given by himself, in offending the nostrils of his
enemy with the fumes of sulphur. Therefore, that nothing on
his part might be omitted, as soon as his followers had receded
out of hearing, he commenced his overtures as follows: “Come
Johnny, my fine fellow, you have taken salt from my hand
many a time. Be quiet, now—my fine fellow.” Johnny recognized
his master and paused in mid-career, and in the centre
of the road, but still kept his head down in a menacing
attitude. Long he remained thus, as motionless as a statue,
while a low moan escaped him resembling the deep mutterings
preceding an earthquake.

Winkle, supposing the victory gained, deliberately dismounted
from his horse, and approached Johnny on foot, as
he had often done before, for the purpose of caressing him.
But it did not occur to him that he had never attempted to
approach the animal with a broad scarlet sash enveloping his
chest. Hence, when he was within a few paces of his huge
minion, he was astonished to see him leap forward to meet him
more like the spring of a tiger upon a lamb than the motion
of friendly greeting. Winkle turned, and fled with all his
might, without pausing to reflect upon the consequences of
such an example. But he was too fat to escape by means of
his own locomotion; and his steed, taking the alarm, had fled
away in advance!

On ran Winkle, and after him the bull, while cries of alarm
proceeded from the pavilion, and curses were uttered by Sergeant
Blore, who strove in vain to rally the men.

At last Winkle gave up in despair, and fell down upon his
face, just at the moment when the bull had slightly turned

aside one of his huge horns for the purpose of transfixing him.
Escaping immediate death by his opportune relinquishment of
the field, Winkle nevertheless felt the point of the horn glance
harmlessly over the posterior portion of his body. But it
ploughed along under the broad scarlet sash, and a moment
after the corpulent hero was dangling in the air! Enraged
to desperation upon finding that his victim could not be easily
detached from his new position, the great monster ran frantically
to and fro along the margin of the water, still bearing
his captive aloft, whose legs and arms were in continual motion,
as if swimming in ether. And now the bull was followed backwards
and forwards by all the cows and heifers in the orchard,
and by all the terriers of the neighborhood, which kept up a
continual clatter at his heels. The only words the poor man
was heard to utter were, “Help! help! rescue! rescue!”

Witnessing such a scene from the pavilion, Mr. Lowe,
touched by the distress of Lucy, united his endeavors with
those of Sergeant Blore to induce the men to go to the relief
of their chieftain. But to no purpose. They were immovable,
and the sergeant himself could do nothing, having but one
leg, one eye, and one arm.

“Then let loose yonder bull-dog,” cried Lowe, “and bid
him follow me!”

Saying this, the young man seized a sheet which had been
spread out on the grass by the washerwoman, and ran off
towards the scene of action. As soon as the bull beheld him
he prepared for battle. Pawing up the earth, and bellowing
furiously, the enormous monster came down at full speed,
with Winkle still dangling from his right hand horn. Lowe
was self-possessed. He adjusted the sheet upon his arm in
the manner he had seen the Spaniards do, and when the critical
moment arrived, succeeded admirably in throwing it over
the animal's head, and in making his escape by springing dexterously
aside. The bull, being thus foiled, and blinded by
the sheet, shook his head violently, and Winkle flew through
the air like some great fragment cast up by a raging volcano.
He sailed over the prickly bushes on the margin of the ditch,
and fell head foremost among the spatter-docks, which grew
half in mud and half in water. The place where he fell was
as soft as a bed of down. But he came very near alighting
upon the head of Bill Dizzle, who was so intently engaged in

the pursuit of a large frog, that he had not heeded the uproar
in the vicinity.

“Blue blazes! What a tremendous frog!” cried Bill,
when Winkle dropped into the ditch, bespattering him all over,
and filling his eyes with filthy water, so that for several moments
he was incapable of seeing any thing.

“No! it's a turkle!” said he, when he had succeeded in
wiping the muddy water from his eyes, and beheld the crown
of Winkle's head emerging from the broad leaves of the spatter
docks. Both the cocked hat and the wig of Napoleon had
been lost, and his bald head having been submerged, really
resembled in color and shape the back of a turtle or terapin.

“No! Blazes!—no!” continued Bill. “It's—it's—blazes!
what is it?”

“It's Winkle, Bill. Help me out of the ditch. Take me
by the hand and lead me. I cannot see.”

“So it is! Oh, gonny! what a black face! Take holt of
the prongs of my spear, sir.”

“Wait a moment, Bill. See if the bull is near us.”

Bill crept under the bushes towards the road and witnessed
the finale of the scene.

The bull, finding himself relieved of the burden which had
in some degree embarrassed his movements, soon tore off the
sheet that obstructed his vision, and more enraged than ever,
rushed upon his new assailant. But Lowe avoided him by
springing behind a tough hickory sapling which grew on the
side of the road. Although the young tree was not greater
in diameter than a man's leg, yet it sufficed to repel the assaults
of the frantic animal. Whenever the bull made a lunge,
the elastic sapling, after yielding an instant to the force of
the blow, would rebound with such power as to throw back the
animal on his haunches. The bull, supposing this to be the
resistance of his antagonist, grew more incensed than ever,
and redoubled his assaults. Finally the young tree was yielding
under the effects of such repeated thrusts, and ceased to
repel them with the vigor it did at first, and Lowe, expecting
every instant to see his only remaining defence prostrated, was
upon the eve of giving up all for lost, when he heard the short
deep barking of the bull-dog. A moment after, he saw the
teeth of his brindle deliverer fastened upon the cheek of the
bull. Uttering a startling yell, the huge monster threw up
his head so violently that the flesh was torn away, and the dog

went sailing over the bushes, and fell sprawling into the ditch
beside its master.

“Blazes!” cried Bill, who had retreated back to his first
position—“the frogs will be frightened for a month!”

Meantime the bull was smarting with the would he had
received, and instead of renewing the attack upon Lowe,
gazed towards the ditch, as if to ascertain whether the dog
was hors de combat. But hearing Brindle's sharp bark as
soon as his head was above water, the great bull, now stricken
with terror, turned about and began to retreat. Brindle,
however, sprang from under the bushes and seized him on the
other cheek, and this time he held him so firmly that he could
not be shaken off. The bull roared, and rolled in the dust;
but Brindle would not relinquish his hold. Finally, seeing
the sergeant at last rallying his forces, which had been successfully
appealed to by Lucy to rescue her uncle and the
young gentleman, the animal gave up the contest, and rushed
into the deepest part of the water, where, by dint of submerging
his head, the half-drowned dog was forced to open his
jaws. The bull then escaped into his own territory.

Lucy, when she witnessed the expulsion of the bull, supposing
her uncle might be slain, and not knowing that Lowe
had escaped without injury, was overwhelmed with tumultuous
palpitations, and fainted in the arms of her aunt. Now,
Wilsome had done nothing but abuse her brother from the
moment he abandoned the game, when she was upon the eve
of winning the rubber. And she was in no pleasant humor
with Lowe for joining in the foolish fracas, as she termed it.
More than once she had proposed that the game should be
concluded with a dummy, as her brother's card had been exposed.
Her own cards were still grasped in her hand when
Lucy fainted.

“Unlace her, Gusset,” said Miss Wilsome, with petulance.
“Throw out the roses, and empty the vase of water in her
face—but don't spill any of it on my dress.”

Gusset obeyed with trembling hands, a livid hue, and
chattering teeth.

“She is reviving,” said Wilsome. “It wasn't much. My
brother is not killed, I know—but if he should be, what else
could he except, always firing off guns, and fancying boars
are Russians, and bulls the British. I am his sister, it is
true—but I could not lament his death as much as a sister

ought, if he were to lose his life in any of these mad pranks.
Besides, I abominate black, and have made up my mind never
to go into mourning. So, if my brother's neck be broken by
the bull—” Here she paused, and placing Lucy in the
rustic arm-chair, steadily regarded Gusset, who was gasping.

“Why, Gusset!” she exclaimed, “what in the world are
you doing? Are you going to swoon, too? He's nothing to
you! I tell you what it is—if you have the ill-manners to
faint before my face, I shall go off and leave you to recover
the best way you can! It is an impudent, indecent habit! I
never fainted. So, now, you have some color. But pick up
your cards; they fell with the backs up, and I did not see
them. The game must be played out. Mercy on us!” she
continued, as she beheld her brother approaching on foot,
covered completely with the black mud of the marsh, and followed
by the whole rabble of his retainers, ever and anon
uttering loud huzzas.

“Oh, thank heaven, he is safe!” said Lucy.

“Safe!” cried her aunt. “Do you call him safe in that
predicament? He had better be dead, than live in such a
pickle as that.”

“The mud can soon be removed!” cried Gusset, rising,
and seemingly about to rush forward and assist in the purification
of the discomfited chieftain.

“What do you mean, Gusset?” asked Miss Wilsome, and
at the same time thrusting back the milliner.” If you stir a
step towards him and soil your hands, I'll send you home,
madam. I am mistress here, I would have you know. The
game must be finished. Let Blore take his master to the
pump, and we'll play with a dummy.”

“Fortunately no injury has been done!” said Lowe, entering
the pavilion.

“He upset my basket of frogs,” said Bill Dizzle, following,
“and they all swam away.”

“I'm glad of it,” said Miss Wilsome; “and I hope you
may never catch them again.” Bill gave her a look of mingled
astonishment and contempt, and then withdrew.

“You, too, were in great peril,” said Lucy, addressing
Lowe.

“I confess that when I saw the roots of the friendly sapling
yielding to the furious assaults of the animal, I measured

the height of the fence with my eye, hoping to be able to
clear it at one bound. I think I could have done so.”

While her brother was undergoing the prescribed ablution
at the pump, Wilsome insisted upon the game being played
out with a dummy. But when they were seated at the table,
it was discovered that a card was missing; and luckily for the
rest, it was one which had fallen from Miss Wilsome's own
hand. It could not be found, and so a new pack was called
for, and a new deal submitted to.

But before the thirteenth card had been dealt to Dummy,
Mr. Napoleon Winkle made his appearance among them, in
fresh costume, and resumed his seat opposite Miss Griselda
Gusset.

“Having had a tilt with Johnny Bull,” said he, in high
spirits, “we will now have a bout with the four kings.”

“Brother, how can you treat a serious matter so lightly,”
asked Miss Wilsome. “If you had witnessed the fainting
scene in the pavilion, after your flight over the hedge—”

“You did not faint, did you, sister?”

“I!”

“But who did?”

“Lucy—and—”

“Lucy, then, feared to lose her uncle?”

“Certainly, uncle,” said Lucy.

“You are my pet. But did any one else faint?”

“Gusset would have fainted, if I had permitted it,” said
Miss Wilsome. “And I am sure I don't know why she
should have done so.”

Mr. Winkle cast a meaning glance at Gusset, who kept
her eyes fixed upon the cards and remained silent.

“As for my part,” said Mr. Lowe, “I must crave Mr.
Winkle's pardon.”

“What for?” asked Mr. Winkle.

“I thought you had surely observed my inexcusable conduct,
sir, at the moment when I encountered the foe.”

“It was my salvation. You did a meritorious action,
which I shall never forget. You saved my life, sir, and I
would be happy to see you an inmate of my family, sir. Why
not abandon your little tenement, and live with me? You
may command any thing that is mine, sir.”

“If you were to do any such thing,” said Wilsome, “it

would not be two months before you would be fit for a madhouse.”

“Pooh, sister!” said Winkle, “you have your cards, your
monkeys, your cats and parrots—every thing but a husband—
and I have my peculiar amusements. Then why do you continually
denounce my diversions, and term them the result of
insanity? It is simply because you have an idiosyncrasy
yourself! Oh, I have been reading a work on madness! I
know the symptoms. But, Mr. Lowe—I know you are not
Sir Hudson, now—why should you crave my pardon?”

“For my laughter. I could not avoid giving vent to it
when I met you borne aloft on the bull's horn.”

“Nor no human being could have refrained from it,” said
Miss Wilsome, smiling significantly at her partner.

“Lucy refrained, and so did Miss Griselda!” said Napoleon.

“Gusset thought it her humble duty to follow Lucy's
swooning example—but I arrested her in time.”

“If your monkey had been in my predicament,” continued
her brother, “I doubt not you would have manifested more
concern.”

“Jocko? Bless my life! I believe I came away without
locking his chain to my bed-post. And he would not permit
any one else to do it! I shall be uneasy until I get back to
the city.”

“Here are the city papers,” said Mr. Winkle, taking them
from the hand of one of his servants just returned from the
village. “And here is a letter for you, Wilsome. Perhaps
it contains some account of your dear monkey.”

And it did. The old lady, in her eagerness to learn the
contents of the letter, forgetting the presence of her partner,
adjusted her glasses, and putting down the cards, read as
follows:

“Old? The ungrateful whelp!” cried Gusset.

“Gusset!” said Miss Wilsome, putting down the letter
which she had been unconsciously reading aloud, and weeping
bitter tears all the while—“how dare you call any member of
my family a whelp? Do you forget that the Winkles made
you what you are?”

“I humbly beg pardon, madam,” said Gusset, in a quivering
voice. “I was merely jesting.”

“I thought so, by Jove!” cried the emperor. “She was
not in earnest, sister. Miss Griselda is famous for her mild
temper, and amiability of disposition. And Walter meant
nothing. He is a noble boy—and may this right hand forget
its cunning when I forget him—”

“Walter has always been my pet,” said Gusset.

“That's right—love him for my sake.”

“Bring my bonnet! I must go!” cried Miss Wilsome,
rising. “I shall never survive it. My heart is broken. Poor
Jocko!”

“Don't, sister, don't indulge such ridiculous lamentations

over a nasty monkey, after regarding unmoved the narrow
escape of your brother from a dreadful death.”

“My bonnet! Brother, Jocko was both more rational and
affectionate than yourself.”

“I supposed you would say so. There is but one woman
living capable of appreciating me—”

“Who?” demanded his sister.

“Not you—but you shall know some of these days.”

“Your uncle intends to marry,” Lowe whispered in Lucy's
ear—“and it may be the wisest thing he could do, for—”

“Mr. Lowe!” said Miss Wilsome, “will you not attend
me to the carriage?”

“Oh, certainly!” was the reply. And rising, the young
gentleman conducted the aunt and niece out of the room,
leaving Mr. Napoleon Winkle and the retired milliner, who
had won the rubber at last, to follow at their leisure. But
their leisure seeming to be too much prolonged, Miss Wilsome
despatched several messengers to hasten them; and
Gusset was finally handed into the coach by no less a gallant
than the great proprietor of the palace.

During the drive back to the village, Lucy and Lowe conjecturing
the nature of each other's thoughts—the tragical
end of the monkey—could not avoid exchanging mirthful
glances, which being perceived by Miss Wilsome, they were
rebuked in this manner.

“How indifferent you both seem to my affiction. Jocko
was dearer to me than many a husband is to his wife. He
was obedient, silent, and watchful; and quite as handsome as
some of the beaux who captivate our poor hearts. In another
year I would have learnt him to play whist, and then I should
have been contented with my lot. I suppose the law would
not have permitted him to have my fortune—and in that case
you would have inherited it, Lucy. But now I have lost my
Jocko, and you a fortune—for I will certainly marry.”

Lucy and Lowe strove to elongate their faces upon hearing
this announcement—but in vain.