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(' f \-y. ■ '•*> -if ■ ri-y v' ■ . * • ¡ft ■ r -r. j - * ft ; :*. •ft' v f- [h>* rr'V- : ->- >- ■ ;• "» •• • r OF THE UNIVER5 ITY Of ILLINOIS Same« tuitt.In large crown Svo, 10$. 6d.} half-bound, 833 pp. MEN OF THE TIME: Q §tograpijical gtriiouarg Actors and Actresses, Architects, Divines, Dramatists, Engineers, Journalists, Lawyers, Mechanics, of tjjje most (Smxmni gibing Medical Men, Military Men, Monarchs, j Naval Men, ; Painters, Politicians, I Statesmen, I &c. &c. &c. EDITED BY EDWARD WALFORD, M.A.The Lovers of MontbarA CRUISE UPON WHEELS : THE CHRONICLE OF SOME AUTUMN WANDERINGS AMONG THE DESERTED POST-ROADS OF FRANCE. BY CHARLES ALLSTON COLLINS, AUTUOB OF “THE BYE-WITNESS,*’ ETC. r IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. II. LONDON: ROUTLEDGE, WARNE, AND ROUTLEDGE. NEW YORK : 56, WALKER STREET. ' 1862. [The right of Translation in retterved.~\CONTENTS OF VOLUME li CHAPTER I. THE MATTER CON*! JNED IN THIS CHAPTER WILL, IT IS HOPED, SERVE TO CONVINCE THE READER THAT THE OFFICE OF A “ PLAIN COOK” IS ONE SURROUNDED WITH DIFFICULTIES OF THE MOST OVERWHELMING SORT, pp. 1—22 CHAPTER II. CONVEYS MR. FUDGE AND HIS FRIEND FROM MONTEREAU TO SENS — IN THE COURSE OF THEIR JOURNEY THEIR EARLY ILLUSIONS ON THE SUBJECT OF HAPPY PEASANTS AND BEAUTIFUL VIVANDIÈRES ARE FINALLY AND FOR EVER DISPELLED.........................pp. 28—36 CHAPTER III. A SHORT CHAPTER, IN WTHICH OUR TRAVELLERS MAKE THE ACQUAINTANCE OF THE HUNGRY MAN OF SENS, AND ALSO THAT OF A COMMERCIAL RECLUSE, AN INHABITANT OF THE SAME CITY.....................pp. 37—50VI CONTENTS OF VOLUME II. CHAPTER IV. THE READER HEARS HOW MR. FUDGE AND MR. PINCHBOLD WENT TO THE FETE AT SENS; ALSO HOW BOTH GENTLEMEN (BUT MR. PINCHBOLD ESPECIALLY) ENJOYED THEMSELVES ON THE OCCASION pp. 51—75 CHAPTER V. THE TRAVELLERS GET ON EROM SENS TO VILLENEUVE, AND PROM VILLENEUVE TO JOIGNY—AN INCIDENT TAKES PLACE WHICH CALLS FORTH AN EXTRAORDINARY DISPLAY OF CHARACTER ON THE PART OF MR. PINCHBOLD, pp. 76—90 CHAPTER VI. AN ADVENTUROUS CHAPTER, IN WHICH MR. PINCHBOLD THINKS HE IS POISONED, AND TOWARDS THE CONCLUSION OF WHICH OUR TRAVELLERS ARE BENIGHTED IN A STRANGE COUNTRY, AND LOSE THEIR WAY, pp. 91-116 CHAPTER VII. TONNERRE, AND REST — SOME ACCOUNT OF THE GOODLY COMPANY ASSEMBLED AT THE INN AT ANCY LE FRANC, AND OF THEIR REFRESHING AND INGENIOUS CONVERSATION; WITH OTHER MATTERS. . . pp. 117—134 CHAPTER VIII. DEVOTED TO A CERTAIN EPISODE IN THE LIFE OF ME. FRANCIS PINCHBOLD—IN FACT, IN THIS CHAPTER THECONTENTS OF VOLUME II vii READER WILE HEAR HOW THAT GENTLEMAN FELL IN LOVE IN A VERY RIDICULOUS MANNER, AND HOW HE WAS RUDELY AWAKENED FROM A VERY FOOLISH DREAM, jjp. 135—158 CHAPTER IX. SOMETHING ABOUT THE COUNTRY BETWEEN MONTBARD AND DIJON ; THE MOST DESERTED OF DESERTED ROADS—SOMETHING ALSO IN ILLUSTRATION OF THE FOLLY OF IMPATIENCE, A FEELING TO WHICH THE READER, IT IS HOPED, NEVER GIVES WAY pp. 159—178 CHAPTER X. DIJON, THE HEART OF THE COTE D’OR—TWO DAYS OF REST, AND THE LAST GREAT DIVISION OF THE JOURNEY ENTERED UPON—THE TRAVELLERS ARRIVE AT AUXONNE, AND GET INTO VERY REMARKABLE QUARTERS INDEED, pp. 179—200 CHAPTER XI. THE MOUNTAINS ; THE GREAT RAMPART OF THE SWISS COUNTRY; THE BARRIER BETWEEN OUR TRAVELLERS AND THEIR JOURNEY’S END; THE JURA CHAIN—HOW SHALL IT BE CROSSED P . . . pp. 201—217 CHAPTER XII. THE ASCENT BEGINS, AND THE TWO FRIENDS GRADUALLY MAKE THEIR WAY INTO THE VERY HEART OF THE JURA MOUNTAINS—ON THE FOURTH DAY, AT ABOUT NOON, THEY COME IN SIGHT OF THE ALPS ! . pp. 218—242viu CONTENTS OF VOLUME II. CHAPTER XIII. THE LAST—THE DESCENT FROM THE HEIGHTS ; ITS LENGTH AND STEEPNESS—ABOVE THE CLOUDS—ARRIVAL IN THE PLAIN AFTER SIX MILES OF DESCENT—THE FEAT ACCOMPLISHED—AND THE END . . pp. 243—254 conclusion........................pp. 255—260 APPENDIX pp. 261—264A CRUISE UPON WHEELS. CHAPTER I. THE 31 ATT EH CONTAINED IN THIS CHAPTER WILL, IT IS HOPED, SERVE TO CONVINCE THE READER THAT THE OFFICE OF A i( PLAIN COOK** IS ONE SURROUNDED WITH DIFFICULTIES OF THE HOST OVERWHELMING SORT. The Grand Monarque was in a state of great bustle and excitement, caused by the presence within its walls of the officers belonging to a regiment which was on its way from Paris to Lyons, and the men of which were scattered about in different parts of the town, but all engaged in that one occupation of peel-ing potatoes, to which all billeted soldiers seem to be so specially devoted. The Grand Monarque was inconveniently full, for not only were there a dozen or so of these officers who were to have it all their own way, as far as accommodation went, but it chanced that, at the same time, there were staying in the town several members of that class by which the inns in the smaller French towns are almost entirely supported, the commis voyageurs, or commercial travellers, who, in VOL. II. B2 A CRUISE UPON WHEELS. the service of great Parisian and other firms, wander about into all sorts of remote nooks and corners of the empire in search of business. Our travellers had, it will be remembered, already encountered two gentlemen of this description at the little town of Doullens, and they were destined, in the course of their journey, to meet with many more of them. The inn, then, being thus occupied by the bagmen and the military, there was but little room left for Mr. Fudge and his friend. It is true that the waiter was ready enough to promise our travellers every species of accommodation ; but it happened also, unfortunately, that this official was but a powerless wretch, with no means of carrying out those good intentions with which he seemed literally brimming over. He was a slippery waiter, too, one of that order of menials who is for ever disappearing at the exact crisis when he is wanted, and whose notion of fetching you any object you require is to rush off with immense alacrity in search of it, and re-appear no more. There was no end to the bedrooms, the washing-stands, the present refreshments, the future meals, which this unlucky youth (for he was of tender years) pledged himself to produce; but, unfortunately, when the moment for the fulfilment of his pledge arrived, nothing was forthcoming; and it was only when Mr. Fudge, in desperation, absolutely laid hold of him as he was running away, and refused to let him go, that he at last showed the two friends into a large double-bedded room, which he placed at their service. Poor wretch, he had reckoned without his host, or rather his hostess; for it was not manyTHE GRAND MONARQUE. 3 minutes before the voice of the landlady was heard from without inquiring what he promised to himself, by showing “ those travellers” into a room already appropriated by the worthy gentleman who travelled for the great firm of Sachet and Co., Paris. Our two Englishmen were now ushered by the landlady herself along several narrow passages, and up and down a great many flights of steps, into the most huge and deserted-looking ball-room that can be imagined, with a raised dais at one end of it, and a music-gallery at the other. There were three or four doors opening into it, and one of these being opened by the landlady, disclosed what she pronounced, with little ceremony, to be the only room left at her disposal. It was a little room, as Mr. Pinchbold describes it, lighted by a window giving on the stable-yard, and communicating with another smaller than itself, which was also placed at the disposal of our travellers, and which had no window at all, being illuminated only by an œil de bœifover the door. There was nothing else to be had, so with a miserable joke on the advantage of having the ballroom at hand for purposes of exercise, our travellers were fain to put up with the accommodation offered them, tossing-up for the œil de bœuf apartment, after an amiable contest, in which each gentleman had shown himself equally anxious to become the proprietor of that sprightly chamber. It was awarded by destiny to Mr. Pinchbold. Having got into the ball-room apartment, the only wish that could be formed by any person of sane mind would naturally be to get out of it as soon, and keep out of it as long, b 24 A CRUISE UPON WHEELS. as possible; so the two friends just saw their luggage deposited, and then set off to examine the town and its environs. They had previously learnt from the landlady herself—for they put no confidence in the announcements of the waiter—that there would he some dinner to be had at six o’clock, or as near that time as the necessity of providing for the officers of the regiment would permit. From the heights that overhang Montereau our travellers looked on the first really fine view which they had seen in the course of their journey. It is at this point that the Seine and the Yonne unite their waters, the two rivers becoming one in the very heart of the town, and flowing on to Paris in combined strength. The windings of these two rivers, as they approach the town from distant quarters, the great stream formed by their junction rolling away into the distance to Paris, Havre, the sea—these things in a landscape which was of itself full of beauties, were well worth a struggle to the top of the great hill above the town to see. To one of the branches of the great river which lay at their feet a special interest attached in the eyes of the travellers, for near, or along the banks of the Yonne, their route lay for many miles, and, till they reached Auxerre, they would scarcely quit its course for half an hour. Mr. Fudge and his companion strained their eyes in the direction in which they were to go, as it was indicated by the river’s course; and both of them felt now more sanguine than they had ever done before as to the chances of reaching their journey’sENCOURAGEMENT. O end. The resources already shown by the gallant Blinkers were, indeed, very encouraging. Except on the first day, when, coming from the Paris livery-stables, where he had been probably half starved, the little Irishman had done his work with ease; and though it may be said that sixty miles in three days was no great achievement, it was yet all that our travellers had proposed to do, and that was something. Besides, to those who are acquainted with horses and their capabilities, it is well known that this regular daily demand on their resources is a tremendous trial, and requires a very different amount of strength to what is sufficient for a park-hack or a brougham-horse about town. The fact is that Blinkers, with his deep chest and short loins, was built ftfor work; while his diet which, now that he was on the road, was a very full one, consisting of twelve litres of oats daily, kept him at concert-pitch perpetually. It is astonishing what diet will do for a horse. On those days when Mr. Fudge had been able to see Blinkers fed himself, he could always trace a greater degree of alacrity in his pace and general conduct than when he had been obliged to leave the little horse to the mercy of officials. Often would this humane gentleman get up in the dark (even when the carriole was not to start till late in the' day) simply that he might go down to the stable and see the Irishman take his oats. And it was necessary to be thus early, for unless he was in the stable the very first thing in the morning, the ostler would inform him, when he appeared there, that his horse had already been fed. Mr. Fudge could then6 A CRUISE UPON WHEELS. only look helplessly into the empty manger, and think to himself, “ there may have been oats in it this morning, but there may not!3 Mr. Fudge and Mr. Pinchbold descended from the hill, and re-entering the town, regained their hotel in good, or rather in too good, time for dinner. In the room devoted to the civilians who were in the hotel there was, it is true, a cloth laid, but not a sign of anything to eat; while, to make it more aggravating still, a succession of dishes were being continually carried across the yard to the greater saloon, which had been appropriated to the use of the military. The dinner, when it did at last arrive, was not .a fascinating meal. The following description of it is found in Mr. Pinchbold’s notes :— “ Pasta soup, very greasy and tallowy, so that the little circular pasta devices floating about in it suggested irresistibly that the soup was made of candles, the grease of which was imperfectly melted, the morsels looking like bits of tallow which had f guttered down.’ The odour of this soup remained in the room during the whole time of dinner. “ The soup removed, a dish was placed before us containing two small cutlets of a horrible light grey tint; they had probably made the circuit of the officers’ table, and been universally rejected. They were followed by a dish containing two fag ends of the spleen or some other part of the entrails of some animal, name unknown, and some potatoes, characterized by an unhallowed sweetness, and a taste of perfumery. “ The next course looked more hopeful at a distance,A BAD DINNER. 7 but, on a closer inspection, turned out to be a little horrid joint of veal, unnaturally tender to the knife, and with curious rosy patches, or spots, in the lean. By its side, on the same plate, an object that looked like a haycock, composed of wet and decayed vegetable matter, which had a combined flavour of cheese, train-oil, and a cabbage which had been staying six weeks in the country with a friend—whose name might, or might not have been Dunghill.” It was possibly in consequence of the unsavoury, and perhaps unwholesome, nature of the meal whose principal characteristics have been thus indicated by Mr. Pinchbold, that the determination of that gentleman and of his friend and companion Mr. Fudge, was lashed up to that point when the adoption of an extreme course becomes justifiable, if not praiseworthy. At all events, some very remarkable results came of that squalid meal, as the reader shall hear. “ This dinner,” said Mr. Pinchbold, putting down his fork, at the conclusion of an attack on the haycock just mentioned, “is wholly uneatable; I am as hungry as when I sat down.” u I am more hungry,” replied Mr. Fudge, despair-ingly. “ What are we to do ?” inquired Mr. Pinchbold. “I don’t know,” was Mr. Fudge’s answer, “ unless,” he added, in the tone of one who makes a suggestion which he has no belief in, “ unless an omelette-----” “ I am sick to death of omelettes,” Mr. Pinchbold interrupted.8 A CRUISE UPON WHEELS. “And so am I/* answered his friend; after which both gentlemen sat speechless for some moments. “ I’ll tell you what/' Mr. Pinchbold broke out at last3 “ why shouldn’t we cook something ourselves ?” “ Cook something ourselves/’ repeated Mr. Fudge, meditatively; “ at the tripod which we bought at Malaise, I suppose you mean ?” “I do/’ said Mr. Pinchbold. “We have no charcoal,” said Mr. Fudge. “We can get some,” replied Mr. Pinchbold. “We have no meat,” argued Mr. Fudge; “no vegetables, no water.” “ There is water in the bottle in your room,” Mr. Pinchbold persisted, “ and everything else we can get in the town, if we set out at once.” And the enthusiastic gentleman started up, and clapping his hat upon his head, professed himself to be ready for the enterprise. “We will try,” said Mr. Fudge, at length, thoroughly roused; and they were both soon in the street. At the corner of Brook-street and Bond-street, there is a meat emporium, where symmetrical legs and haunches of mutton, neatly flowered and daintily trimmed, hang in rows above one’s head inviting the carving-knife. In the French metropolis, there is a marvellous establishment in the Rue Tronchet, where there is a separate department for every kind of meat, and even for the different joints of the same animal, where an official, seated by the door, hands you a card as you enter with the names of the different meats printed on it, and space left in columns for the weight, theTHE CONSEQUENCES. 9 price per pound, to be filled in after the purchase is made; where you are handed over by solemn and mustachioed men, from one to another, till you reach the department you are in search of, where a fierce gentleman cuts off your two pounds of the loin, and trims it with the air of an artist, where three matrons sit on a raised platform, like justices on a bench, and receiving your card and your money, return you the first receipted with a stamp ; and where, finally, as you go out, the gentleman who gave you the card on entering receives it again as you go out, and secretes it in a place of security. Now those persons who form their ideas of a butcher’s shop from that first mentioned, in Bond-street, or who, having visited Paris, take their impressions of a French butchery from that in the Rue Tronchet, would be singularly disappointed and surprised were they requested to choose a joint from the shop of the chief butcher of the town of Montereau. To begin with, it was not easy to find it at all. The town was, when Mr. Fudge and his friend emerged into its main street, in a state of the profoundest and most discouraging darkness, and our two Englishmen wandered and stumbled along in ineffectual search for the object of their desires, approaching every window where any light, even the most feeble, appeared, in the desperate hope that it might come from a butcher's shop. There was nothing of the kind, however, to be seen, and they were at length driven in desperation to take advice, or, in other words, to consult the first responsible-looking native whom they saw, as to what their course was to be. By this gentleman, who was10 A CRUISE UPON WHEELS. himself in the black pudding and sausage line, they were directed to turn aside out of the main street, to which they had hitherto confined themselves, and following a certain narrow lane which led down towards the river, to inquire for one Lenoir, who kept a butchery. “ That man is sending us to our doom,” said Mr. Pinchbold, as he and his friend descended the sausage-vendors steps. “ I have a presentiment that Mr. Lenoir is a murderer; that his butchery is a human butchery, and that he lives near the river for the convenience of disposing of----” This speech was delivered in broken tones, by reason of the numerous stumbles, the sudden descents from paving-stones to puddles, and the plunges from puddles back again to paving-stones, by which the speaker's progress was impeded. It was suddenly interrupted by an exclamation from Mr. Pudge, who, having brought his head into violent contact with an angle of masonry, rightly conceived that they had arrived at the corner of the lane indicated by the sausage-man. “ This must be the street/' said Mr. Fudge, picking up his hat, which had been knocked oif. “ I can see the river gleaming at the end of it. I wish we had brought the lantern,” he added, as Mr. Pinch-bold bumped heavily against him. “I wish we had brought Mazard/' replied Mr. Pinchbold; “ his barking might have awakened suspicion, and led, at least, to the avenging of our assassination.” Mazard had been left, tied up in the inn, Mr.THE BUTCHER'S SHOP. U Pinchbold being afraid that the dog might yet, in spite of the distance from Paris, make some attempt to escape, if taken out in a strange place in the dark. Our adventurers had now arrived opposite a little sort of hovel, which was distinguished from the others iu the row of which it formed one, by the dim gleam of a single candle; there was a sort of wooden shelf just inside, and level with the window-sill, and on it was a bullocks heart, a strip of mutton fat, a marrowbone (empty), and half a kidney. A dark form, distantly resembling the decapitated head of some member of the animal creation, loomed faintly in the background, and on an execution block in the middle of this attractive apartment, was a terrific axe. The block was also decorated with several formidable-looking and pointed knives, stuck symmetrically all round it. “ Those knives,” said Mr. Pinchbold, “ carry out my idea.” “ All butch era* shops are furnished with knives,” argued Mr. Fudge. “Not like this,” retorted Mr. Pinchbold; “besides, it is evident that the shop is a mere blind. There is no meat in it.” “ There is a bullock's heart, a strip of mutton, and the head of a—of a—” “What do you desire?” said a voice, emanating from some one so immediately behind Mr. Pinchbold, that that gentleman sprung at least six inches into the air with a cry of horror. The words were spoken in the bass clef, in the12 A CRUISE UPON WHEELS. French language,, and were uttered by no less a person than M. Lenoir himself, who had been standing all the time on the other side of the narrow lane, admiring his own shop. “ What have you got ?” inquired Mr. Fudge. The butcher drew a pointed instrument from his girdle, and stuck it straight into the centre of the bullocks heart. “ It is too large,” said Mr. Fudge, with a slight shudder; “and,” he added, scarcely knowing what he said, “ too juicy; we should like some mutton.” The butcher caught the strip of fat, of which mention has been made, on the top of the pointed instrument, and held it up admiringly, as if it was drapery. “ It is too fat,” said Mr. Fudge. “Tell him,” suggested Mr. Pinchbold, desperately, “ that we want a little bit to boil.” Mr. Fudge communicated his friend’s suggestion. The butcher went into his shop and disappeared down a trap-door at the back part of it. Presently the carcass of an entire sheep appeared in the mouth of the trap, and ascending gradually, disclosed a pair of human legs—those of the butcher—beneath it. It was an immense animal, and the butcher deposited it on the block with a sigh of relief. “ Don’t cut up a sheep on my account,” interposed Mr. Fudge. But he spoke to little purpose; M. Lenoir had split the deceased animal down the centre of its vertebrae in no time. Selecting one of its halves, he marked out with his knife about a quarter of the whole carcass, and said, laconically—PLAIN COOKING. 33 " About that much ?” " No,^ said Mr. Fudge; " much less." "So much?" said the butcher, indicating about six pounds. " Too much," reiterated Mr. Fudge. The butcher came down to about five pounds, but Mr, Fudge still protested it was too much. It ended in his requesting that the smallest portion possible should be cut off, and even then the friends staggered away under a tolerable load. Having next secured some vegetables, which were sold by the butcher's next-door neighbour—an old lady who kept them in a pan under her bed—our two friends now stumbled back again to the inn. The meat and vegetables were concealed under Mr. Fudge's loose coat and in Mr. Pinchbold's pockets, and were hid very successfully. It is true that Mr. Pinchbold dropped a large carrot as he passed the bar of the inn, and just as the eye of the landlady was upon him, but he had the presence of mind to mutter some general assertion about " carrots being good for horses," and as they were going in the direction of the stable to get the cooking-basket out of the carriole, this Jesuitical remark seemed plausible enough. It is astonishing how far you may carry the preparation for some great act without perceiving that some indispensable portion of the paraphernalia required for the realization of your project is wanting. Mr. Fudge had set up the tripod in a convenient position close to the window of his apartment; he had filled the saucepan with water, and had hacked with a pocket-knife the mutton into such a joint as there14 A CRUISE UPON WHEELS. was some hope of squeezing into the pot—Mr. Fudge had accomplished all this, and Mr. Pinchbold had scraped half-a-dozen carrots and as many turnips, before either gentleman had remembered that they had no fuel. It was a baffling thought, but our friends had advanced too far to recede, and it was not long before Mr. Fudge—with his lantern in his hand this time—was off once more in search of a certain kind of charcoal called “ braises” which is made of something so light, that it seems rather to be the pith of wood than wood itself, and which ignites and burns much more freely than the ordinary kind of charcoal. Mr. Fudge was not long absent, and on his return with an immense parcel full of braises, there was nothing wanting in the preparations for the great enterprise in which our intrepid voyagers had pledged themselves to engage. It is extraordinary how very far a gentleman with a saucepan, a fire, water, meat, and vegetables, all ready to his hand, may be from being in a position to produce a dish of boiled mutton. A kind of paralysis was upon both our friends now that they found themselves surrounded by all the requisite machinery for cooking, and neither of them for some time was able, if his life had depended on it, to advance a step farther. “Now, then,” said Mr. Pinchbold, “everything seems ready.” “Yes,” replied his friend, “everything. Would you like to begin ?” “No,” said Mr. Pinchbold, carelessly, “no; you had better begin.”PLAIN COOKING. 15 “ Yes, that3s all very well/3 answered Mr. Fudge ; “ but how do you begin ?33 “ I thought you knew/3 said Mr. Pinchbold, wildly. “ There are one or two points/3 replied his friend, “ about which I am in doubt, and they are rather important. I don3t know whether we ought to put the meat into the water cold, and then let it warm gradually, or to boil the water first and then put the meat in it. Then I am not sure, supposing the meat once in the water, how long it ought to boil, nor am I certain whether, indeed, it ought to boil at all.33 “ Boiled mutton surely ought to boil/3 remarked Mr. Pinchbold, sententiously. “ There is a detestably mysterious and indefinite process called simmering,33 replied Mr. Fudge, “ which I believe is at the very root of all cookery, but for the life of me I can3t tell what it is.33 “ I should think, from the sound/3 observed Mr. Pinchbold, “that it was a kind of hissing bubble.33 “Well, we must try/3 said Mr. Fudge, desperately ; and in went the meat into a saucepanful of cold water, in which a quantity of chopped carrots and turnips were already soaking. “ It looks queer/3 said Mr. Pinchbold, looking at the raw meat as it lay at the bottom of the saucepan with a suspicious air; “ I hope it3s all right.33 The usual results of amateur cookery began now to develop themselves. Everything that Mr, Fudge touched burnt him, and everything that touched Mr.16 A CRUISE UPON WHEELS. Pinchbold scalded him. The two gentlemen got in each other’s way, differed in opinion as to the progress of the mutton, became hot and irritable. Then the mutton, one minute ago in tepid water, boiled over the moment that it was left. Moreover, it wholly declined to simmer. If it was placed upon the fire it boiled in the most furious manner, while if it was removed and cunningly balanced on the edge of the chafing-dish and the rim of a washing-basin, it became stone cold. To let it boil was the only thing to be done under these circumstances, and boil it did with a vengeance. “ It has suddenly changed colour,” said Mr. Fudge, after inspecting progress for about the fiftieth time ; “ I wonder if it is done ?” “ Probe it with the point of your knife,” suggested Mr. Pinchbold. “Is it soft?” he added, as his friend obeyed this injunction. “ No,” replied Mr. Fudge, “ I can’t say it is.” “Ah, then,” said Mr. Pinchbold, who, finding that his friend was ignorant upon the subject, became quite authoritative in tone, “ then you may depend upon it that it isn’t done. fBoil till tender’ is a direction I am sure I have read in some cookery-book.” “ If boiling will do it,” said Mr. Fudge, mistrust-fully, “ we are all right.” He might well say so. The pace at which that mutton was boiling was something without a parallel in the annals of cookery. It leapt, it bubbled, it knocked its own lid off, it nearly put the fire out, it spirted bits of hard carrot out into the room, it almostPLAIN COOKING. 17 bounced out of the pot itself, but somehow or other it did not get soft. “It is getting harder,” said Mr. Fudge, after probing the meat again. “ Boil till tender,” repeated Mr. Pinchbold; and away they went again. At the end of another quarter of an hour Mr. Fudge probed once more, and at the expiration of twice that time the mutton was decidedly considerably harder than ever. “ Perhaps it has boiled too much,” suggested Mr. Pinchbold. “ It seems highly probable,” said Mr. Fudge, who had just scalded his mouth in tasting the liquor of the mutton, and was rather snappish in consequence. “We had better *dish up/ ” remarked Mr. P. There was only one difficulty about “ dishing up,” and that consisted in the absence of a dish. However, the lid of the saucepan was propped up in a dexterous manner, so as to supply this deficiency as well as might be, and the mutton was speedily harpooned up out of the depths of the pot and placed upon table— “ Hallo,” cried Mr. Pinchbold, on first catching sight of it; “ I am afraid this wont do.” The aspect of the meat certainly justified Mr. P/s alarm. It was reduced to about one-third of its original dimensions, was quite white, and presented a shrivelled appearance, precisely similar to that which characterizes the arms of a washerwoman after a hard day of it among the soapsuds. VOL. II. c18 A CRUISE UPON WHEELS. “ Uneatable !” remarked Mr. Pinchbold, after an ineffectual effort to swallow tlie portion of flesh which Mr. Fudge had managed after much muscular exertion to hack off for his benefit. “Uneatable !” reciprocated Mr. Fudge, after a similar failure on his own part. “ How are the vegetables ?” inquired Mr. Pinch-bold. “ If they were blocks of steel,” his friend answered, “ they could not be harder.” “And the broth?” asked Mr. Pinchbold, once more. “ Seems all to have boiled away,” replied Mr. Fudge, looking into the pot, “ except a little drop at the bottom.” “And that is burnt,” remarked Mr. Pinchbold, tasting the liquor that was left with an ivory teaspoon. The two friends sat for some time gazing at each other in speechless and powerless bewilderment, while Mazard disposed with some difficulty of the boiled mutton. The dog’s appetite had manifestly improved (as had his whole demeanour) since the scene in the forest, and by the intense interest and joy with which he had watched the whole of the boiling process just described, it became evident that he was fast coming to the conclusion that he was still in the “ cook and confectionery” line, and that the cooking transaction of which he had just been a witness was in some way connected with the business. “ Is there nothing else we could try ?” inquiredPLAIN COOKING. 19 the unhappy Mr. Pinchbold, who was sitting nibbling at his bread, the incorporation of famine. Mr. Fudge cast a glance round the room, and his eye lit upon the frying-pan, which, as well as the saucepan just used, and a small gridiron, formed part of the cooking apparatus originally purchased at Malaise. Mr. Fudge remembered that among the stores laid in previous to their start was a large piece— nearly half a flitch—of bacon. Mr. Fudge rose from his place, and advancing to the provision basket, applied his nose to the bacon, which was there safe enough. Having expressed his approval of the condition of this important article of food, Mr. F. brought it to the table, and having sharpened his knife, by putting it and that of Mr. Pinchbold through a sort of frantic broadsword exercise, proceeded to cut two symmetrical slices or rashers from the flitch. This done, Mr. Fudge next gave his attention to the fire, and having added some more fuel, and waited during its complete ignition, he placed the two slices of bacon in the frying-pan, and the frying-pan in turn upon the fire. There was a moments pause, and then during a death-like silence a faint sound composed of something between a hiss and a crackle broke upon the ears of our two famishing friends. At this moment a faint and cannibalic smile might have been observed upon the features of Mr. Pinchbold, and it was not long before a similar expression became developed on those of Mr. Fudge. Presently Mr. Pinchbold indulged in a gentle sniff. c 220 A CRUISE UPON WHEELS. “ What a delicious smell !” he said, in a whisper, ff Don't speak,” replied Mr. Fudge, in a similar tone. The hissing had now gained considerably in force and volume, and a delicious fragrance filled the apartment, Mr. Fudge turned the bacon. “ One side done,” said that gentleman. Another long pause, more hissing and crackling, and Mr. Fudge spoke again. “ Hold your plate,” he said. Mr. Pinchbold held his own plate, and then he held Mr. Fudge’s plate, and then when each plate had received its burden, each gentleman sat down, and using a bit of crust as a fork—it does very well —and a clasp-knife to cut the bacon, gave himself over to the full enjoyment of the moment. “ More I” said Mr. Pinchbold, having finished his rasher. “ More !” cried Mr. Fudge, seizing the frying-pan. Who shall describe the delight of that meal. Led up to by a long course of French cookery, latterly not of the best kind ; immediately preceded by the failure of the boiled mutton, that dish of bacon seemed to both our travellers the most delicious thing they had ever tasted. The fact is that there is something pre-eminently agreeable about a furtive meal. The boy at school who partakes of a three-cornered tart under the lid of his desk, or the lady traveller who nibbles at a sandwich half-concealed in her reticule, both of them get more satisfaction out of the respective viands they consume, than they would derive from far more savoury matters eaten openly.21 “ THE BODY.” The worst thing, however, about furtive cookery is the difficulty of disposing of the fragments, the bits of fat and bone which remain when the meal is over, encrusted in a disgusting coagulation of cold grease. Our amateurs, after a long consultation on this subject, were compelled to have recourse to that last refuge of the desperate—a sheet of newspaper. Into this the horrible remains of the supper were remorselessly pushed, and the whole parcel, bound up with string, was placed on the window-sill that the night air might ventilate it, “ It is like the fbody/ after a murder,” said Mr. Pinchbold ; “ what are we to do with it tomorrow ?” if We must take it with us,” replied Mr. Fudge, “ and when we have arrived at some spot where no human eye can mark our proceedings, we will cast it down by the wayside and fly from the spot with all the speed we can make.” It was well for our travellers that the enormous amount of bustle and confusion caused by the number of officers staying in the house, absorbed all attention, and kept the staff of the inn too much employed to have any leisure for watching the proceedings of Mr. Fudge and his friend. This inn-staff was not a large one, consisting, according to Mr. Pinchbold, of a patron—the name by which the landlord is always called—a patron who was a nonentity, and who waited at table; a horrid old woman, the patron’s wife, who governed the establishment; the garçon already mentioned, who promised every thing and performed nothing, and who was incessantly called to22 A CRUISE UPON WHEELS. order by tbe cracked voice of the landlady; an execrably sulky chambermaid, and an ostler to match. All these people were kept in an active state of attendance on the military, and we repeat that it was well it was so, as the mere smell produced by the performances of our amateur cooks was so powerful that it must have infallibly betrayed them if anybody had approached their corner of the house. Even as it was a certain old officer who was stumbling along the ball-room on his way to bed was distinctly heard by Mr. Pinchbold to sniff several times in a sharp and suspicious manner, and then to utter these remarkable words: {(Hold, hold! one would say that the kitchen must be near here!”23 CHAPTER II. CONVEYS ME. FUDGE AND HIS FEIEND FROM MONTEBEAU TO SENS. IN THE COUESE OF THEIR JOURNEY THEIR EARLY ILLUSIONS ON THE SUBJECT OF HAPPY PEASANTS AND BEAUTIFUL VIVANDlilRES ARE FINALLY AND FOR EVER DISPELLED. It was still dark—pitch dark—the next morning, when Mr. Fudge, who had slept through a succession of noises which might have awakened the Seven Sleepers themselves, was gradually aroused to a sense of consciousness by a combination of sounds which one would have thought insufficient to disturb the slumbers of the lightest sleeper in existence. “ What sounds were those ?” Mr. Fudge asked himself, in his imperfectly awakened state; “ where was he ? Was this delicious music that awakened the night echoes a reality or a dream?” It was music, soft, far off, so far off that no single instrument could be discerned, only a mellowed harmony of sound, softened, as it seemed, quite as much by the darkness as by the distance. Gradually as the sleeper, still but half-awake, continued to listen, he seemed to detect that the sounds which held him in such rapt delight were drawing nearer. Then it was not long before he was able to distinguish that this harmony was made up of many instruments, and that24 A CRUISE UPON WHEELS. one of these which appeared to keep the rest together, and measure out the time to all, was a drum. Mr. Pudge would not wake, he would not admit what reason told him, that the sounds he listened to were produced by the band of the regiment which was quartered in Montereau, that the troops had been collected together in another part of the town, and were marching past the Grand Monarque in their way out of it. All this Mr. Fudge knew to be the case, but still he would not have it. He kept his eyes tightly closed, and his mind’s eye was sealed also to all acknowledgment of the facts of the world outside. Let him listen to that music as to some mysterious thing that he could not account for. Listening to it so, it did him good. There was not one high emotion, not one noble aspiration which had ever had possession of his mind, that did not seem to return at this time, bringing such sense of refreshment with it as always follows from the stirring of the better purpose within us. Eut was this all? Were there no other depths reached by those sounds? With the force of a dream—and greater force there is none—there came upon him a crowd of ancient memories, inhabitants of some storehouse of the mind, the gates of which that music had unlocked. No recollection of his boyish days, no remembrance of early manhood, of that brightest moment of life when the world wears such a pleasant face that we fancy it has not got a single frown, or even a grave look in store for us, not one memory of this time but came back then and lived its time again.MURDER WILL OUT. 25 But the music gets fainter. The dull tramp of measured footsteps which accompanied it is heard no longer, and soon the larger and lighter objects in the room become pronounced sufficiently for Mr. Fudge to know that another day is breaking, a day when he may lay up new and happier memories for the future that is yet in store. Our travellers had a long journey before them, so when Mazard came trotting out of Mr. Pinchbold’s room into that occupied by Mr. Fudge as if on purpose to call him, that gentleman j umped out of bed, though it was still too dark to see distinctly, and called aloud to Mr, Pinchbold to follow his example. It was just eight o’clock when our two friends drove away from the door of the Grand Monarque. The morning was bitter cold but dry, and everything seemed to promise a fine day. Mr. Fudge and his companion were just felicitating themselves upon this circumstance, and were also in a high state of glee at the success of the cooking operations of the previous night, when they heard some one calling loudly after them, Mr. Fudge immediately pulled up, and he had hardly done so when the garçon of the hotel, quite out of breath with the pace he had been running at, came up to the side of the carriole, and respectfully handed in a parcel which he said they had left behind them at the hotel. Whether it was that the pace at which the waiter had been running had disarranged the package, or that it had been originally but indifferently secured, or, which is still more likely, that the26 A CRUISE UPON WHEELS. thing had been pre-arranged by the hotel authorities as a revenge for an implied insult to the establishment—from whichever of these causes what we are going to relate arose, it is useless and impertinent to inquire—but certain it is that at the moment when the garçon respectfully handed the parcel into the carriole, it came loose, and the whole of its contents, consisting of half-a-dozen bones of neck of mutton imperfectly picked, a large piece of the more worthless portion of the same joint in its normal state of rawness, several carrots, some turnips, and some riud of bacon, all these things came rolling and tumbling out one over another on the apron of the carriole. There was nothing for it in such a case as this but flight. Mr. Pinchbold, who was very sensitive on the subject of appearances, sunk back with a hollow groan, and Mr. Fudge, without paying any attention to the malignant apologies of the garçon, who exclaimed at sight of the broken victuals just described, “Ah ! the provisions of Monsieur;” Mr. Fudge, we say, started his horse as rapidly as he was able, scattering the remains of the furtive meal in all directions, and leaving the waiter to make whatever comments on this tremendous incident the peculiar nature of his mind might suggest to him. The archbishopric of Sens for a night resting-place, and the village of Pont-sur-Yonne for the midday baiting, this was the programme of our travellers* day. The whole distance from Monter eau to Sens was about twenty-seven miles, and the village just named broke it at something more than half way. It was a glorious morning, the first early chill soonTHE DESERTED ROAD. 27 passed away, and the sun blazed out with almost summer force. It was at such times as these that the full enjoy ableness of the enterprise in which our two Englishmen were engaged made itself felt. It was at such times that this journey among the deserted post-roads of France seemed even to surpass all that they had anticipated from it. Deserted, indeed, these roads were, even more than either Mr. Fudge or his friend had expected. It was sometimes almost awful to go so far, and travel so long as they did without encountering a single soul,'without meeting or overtaking a single vehicle. The roads seemed hardly worth keeping up with the traffic so completely withdrawn from them, and the cantonniers or road-menders, who were stationed at rare intervals along the way, looked up in astonishment as the travellers passed them by. How slowly they wound along those €€ deserted roads/'’ but not too slowly. At every turn of the wheel almost, some fresh source of pleasure or interest seemed to reveal itself, and not once since that journey had begun had ennui or weariness been felt by either one of the two gentlemen, whose journey was such a subject of surprise to all who heard of it. There is always something to mitigate human enjoyment, and it must be confessed that this something on this particular morning was furnished by Blinkers. Nothing could exceed the aggravation of his behaviour. The day was so warm that the flies, which are particularly venomous in autumn, beset the little horse rather closely. This might be some excuse for a certain amount of irritability, but not for such28 A CRUISE UPON WHEELS. frantic proceedings as those in which this animal indulged. Not only did he kick at his stomach with his near hind-leg so incessantly that Mr. Fudge fully expected that he would lame himself by bringing his foot into such constant collision with the hard road as he did after every kick. Not only did he do the same with his fore-foot also, but he would absolutely every now and then make an attempt to stop., in order more completely to devote himself to the conflict with his enemies. What made it worse, too, was that Mr. Pinchbold would insist that there was something wrong with the harness, and would get down to inspect it, and to try whether certain alterations in the arrangement of some of the straps, would not, as he expressed it, make things go more comfortably.” But as Mr. P.’s alterations had always to be restored to their original state, his interference in this matter was not productive of much benefit, and had even this additional ill-effect, that Blinkers finding his misconduct rewarded by an occasional stoppage of some duration while Mr. Pinchbold made his experiments, became more outrageous than ever in his goings-on. Mr. Fudge was so tired of struggling with this aggravating little animal that it was quite a relief to him when, at about twelve o’clock, the first few houses of the village where they were to rest showed but a short way off. It was a dismal, grey-looking place this Pont-sur-Yonne, and was not to be reclaimed from its innate melancholy even by the presence of a troop of soldiers picqueted in its dismal Place. There is surely nothing comparable to a FrenchSTAGE VILLAGERS. 29 village for depressing the human mind. There are in our own country to he found here and there certain small towns and villages which may be regarded as no mean adepts in the art of guiding man to self-destruction, but the worst of them is a cheery and frolicsome residence in comparison to the average of French villages. The first person you meet on entering one of these hamlets is invariably an idiot, and the second, who is always a hideous old woman, you would set down as the most ancient inhabitant, if it were not that you go on meeting still older ones as you advance. Old women, idiots, and children everywhere, till at last you conclude that all the younger portion of the peasantry must have gone up to Paris to figure in that tremendous corps of impostors who come capering on to the stage to assist at the nuptials of the faithful Pierre and Pauline, the Pride of that Stage Village which has no existence upon earth. A hideous vivandière, attached to the regiment which was piequeted in the Grande Place, was going from house to house trying to get provisions, and though she did not seem to be particularly successful, she had at least got, as it appeared at first, all that was to be had. Mr. Fudge and his friend were altogether rejected at the principal inn of the place ; and at the second they were informed that, though it was possible their horse might be put up, it was quite out of the question that they themselves could be provided with so much as a crust of bread or a cup of café au lait. te Hang it,” cried Mr. Fudge, as this repulse, delivered by a virago of a woman, reached his ears,30 A CRUISE UPON WHEELS. “ what fictions the world is deluded by. Why are vivandières supposed to he pretty, mine host or hostess to be jolly, and peasants a picturesque and happy race, with cherry ribbons in their straw hats, dancing after a waggon full of grapes ? Look at the reality. Look at those peasants; were ever any human beings so squalid, so hideous, so sulky, so depressed ? Look at that vivandière, with her glazed hat like a wherryman, her round shoulders with a paletot over them, and her hideous and misshapen trousers peeping out from under her petticoat; was there ever such a monster of ugliness? And then, for a jolly hostess, what do you think of this scowling lady, who will not let us into her house, who will give us nothing to eat or drink, and whose inn looks about as festive as an undertaker's shop on a wet Sunday afternoon ? It is time these delusions were exposed. It is time—" “ Time/' Mr. Pinchbold interposed, IFLE TARGET REGISTERS. For Recording unerringly Fv the Result of each Day’s Practice. Without this Guide every shot fixed is so much powder and lead thrown away. On a card, price 3d., AIMING drill and in-door rifle practice. -tA. By Captain Busk, Od the Card are printed Models of Targets, representing the precise appearance of the Regulation Target at various distances. Price 10s. 6d. half-bound, HE SHOT-GUN AND SPORTING RIFLE. 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