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For some reenacting relevant culture, I present some selections from one of my favorite books, Dickens' “The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club.”
Could you imagine Charles Dickens as a 'tater at one of these in 1836, taking notes for his new book?
"The whole population of Rochester and the adjoining towns rose from their beds at an early hour of the following morning, in a state of the utmost bustle and excitement. A grand review was to take place upon the Lines. The manoeuvres of half-a-dozen regiments were to be inspected by the eagle eye of the commander-in-chief; temporary fortifications had been erected, the citadel was to be attacked and taken, and a mine was to be sprung.
Mr. Pickwick was, as our readers may have gathered from the slight extract we gave from his description of Chatham, an enthusiastic admirer of the army. Nothing could have been more delightful to him – nothing could have harmonized so well with the peculiar feeling of each of his companions – as this sight. Accordingly they were soon a-foot, and walking in the direction of the scene of action, towards which crowds of people were already pouring from a variety of quarters.
The appearance of everything on the Lines denoted that the approaching ceremony was one of the utmost grandeur and importance. There were sentries posted to keep the ground for the troops, and servants on the batteries keeping places for the ladies, and sergeants running to and fro, with vellum-covered books under their arms, and Colonel Bulder, in full military uniform, on horseback, galloping first to one place and then to another, and backing his horse among the people, and prancing , and curveting, and shouting in a most alarming manner, and making himself very hoarse in the voice, and very red in the face, without an assignable cause or reason whatsoever. Officers were running backwards and forwards, first communicating with Colonel Bulder, and then ordering the sergeants, and the running away altogether, and even the very privates themselves look from behind their glazed stocks with an air of mysterious solemnity, which sufficiently bespoke the special nature of the occasion…
… At length the low roar of many voices ran through the crowd, which usually announced the arrival of whatever they have been waiting for. All eyes were turned in the direction of the sally-port. A few moments of eager expectation, and colours were seen fluttering gaily in the air, arms glistened brightly in the sun, column after column poured on to the plain. The troops halted and formed, the word of command run through the line, there was a general clash of muskets as arms were presented, and the commander-in-chief, attended by Colonel Bulder and numerous officers, cantered to the front. The military bands struck up altogether; the horses stood upon two legs each, cantered backwards, and whisked their tails about in all directions: the dogs barked, the mob screamed, the troops recovered, and nothing was to be seen on either side, as far as the eye could reach, but a long perspective of red coats and white trousers, fixed and motionless.
“… ‘It is indeed a noble and a brilliant sight,’ said Mr. Snodgrass, in whose bosom a blaze of poetry was rapidly bursting forth, ‘to see the gallant defenders of their country drawn up in brilliant array before the peaceful citizens, their faces beaming – not with warlike ferocity, but with civilized gentleness; their eyes flashing – not with the rude fire of rapine or revenge, but with the soft light of humanity and intelligence.”
Mr. Pickwick fully entered into the spirit of this eulogium, but he could not exactly re-echo its terms, for the soft light of intelligence burnt rather feebly in the eyes of the warriors, inasmuch as the command “eyes front” had been given, and all the spectator saw before him was several thousand pairs of optics, staring forward, wholly divested of any expression whatever.
“We are in a capital situation now,” said Mr. Pickwick, looking round him. The crowd had dispersed in their immediate vicinity, and they were nearly alone.
“Capital!” echoed both Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle.
“What are they doing now?” inquired Mr. Pickwick, adjusting his spectacles.
“I-I-rather think,” said Mr. Winkle, changing colour – “I rather think they’re going to fire.”
“Nonsense,” said Mr. Pickwick, hastily.
“I-I-really think they are,” urged Mr. Snodgrass, somewhat alarmed.
Impossible,” replied Mr. Pickwick. He had hardly uttered the word, when the whole half-dozen regiments leveled their muskets as if they had but one common object, and that object the Pickwickians, and burst forth with the most awful and tremendous discharged that ever shook the earth to its center, or an elderly gentleman off his.
It was in this trying situation, exposed to a galling fire of blank cartridges, and harassed by the operations of the military, a fresh body of whom had begin to fall in on the opposide side, that Mr. Pickwick displayed that perfect coolness and self-possession, which are the indispensable accompaniments of a great mind. He seized Mr. Winkle by the arm, and placing himself between that gentleman and Mr. Snodgrass, earnestly besought them to remember that beyond the possibility of being rendered deaf by the noise, there was no immediate danger to be apprehended from the firing.
“But – but – suppose some of the men should happen to have ball cartridges by mistake, “ remonstrated Mr. Winkle, pallid at the supposition he was himself conjuring up. “I heard something whistle through the air just now – so sharp, close to my ear.”
“No, no – it’s over now,” said Mr. Pickwick. His lip might quiver, and his cheek might blanch, but no expression of fear or concern escaped the lips of t hat immortal man.
Mr. Pickwick was right: he firing ceased; but he had scarcely time to congratulate himself on the accuracy of his opinion, when a quick movement was visible in the line: the hoarse shout of the word of command ran along it, and before either of the party could form a guess at the meaning of this new manoeuvre, the whole of the half-dozen regiments, with fixed bayonets, charged at double quick time down upon the very spot on which Mr. Pickwick and his friends were stationed…
…The opposite troops, whose falling in had perplexed Mr. Pickwick a few seconds before, were drawn up to repel the mimic attack of the sham besiegers of the citadel; and the consequence was that Mr. Pickwick and his two companions found themselves suddenly inclosed between two lines of great length, the one advancing at a rapid pace, and the other firmly waiting the collision in hostile array.
“Hoi!” shouted the officers of the advancing line.
“Get out of the way,” cried the officers of the stationary one.
“Where are we to go to?” screamed the agitated Pickwickians.
“Hoi-hoi-hoi” was the only reply. There was a moment of tense bewilderment, a heavy tramp of footsteps, a violent concussion, a smothered laugh; the half-dozen regiments were half a thousand yards off, and the soles of Mr. Pickwick’s boots were elevated in air.
“…Astounding evolutions they were, one rank firing over the heads of another rank, and the running away, and then the other rank firing over the heads of another rank, and running away in their turn; and then forming squares, with officers in the center; and then descending the trench on one side with scaling ladders, and ascending it on the other again by the same means; and knocking down barricades of the baskets, and behaving in the most gallant manner possible. Then there was such a ramming down of the contents of enormous guns on the battery, with instruments like magnified mops, such a preparation before they were let off, and such an awful noise when they did go, that they air resounded with the screams of ladies… Everybody was excited, expect the fat boy, and he slept as soundly as if the roaring of cannon were his ordinary lullaby.
“Joe, Joe!” said the stout gentleman, when the citadel was taken, and the besiegers and besieged sat down to dinner…”
“ … the spectacles and pocket-glass were again adjusted – and the evolutions of the military recommenced. There was a great fizzing and banging of guns, and starting of ladies – and then a mine was sprung, to the gratification of everybody – and when the mine had gone off, the military and the company follow its example, and went off too."
Could you imagine Charles Dickens as a 'tater at one of these in 1836, taking notes for his new book?
"The whole population of Rochester and the adjoining towns rose from their beds at an early hour of the following morning, in a state of the utmost bustle and excitement. A grand review was to take place upon the Lines. The manoeuvres of half-a-dozen regiments were to be inspected by the eagle eye of the commander-in-chief; temporary fortifications had been erected, the citadel was to be attacked and taken, and a mine was to be sprung.
Mr. Pickwick was, as our readers may have gathered from the slight extract we gave from his description of Chatham, an enthusiastic admirer of the army. Nothing could have been more delightful to him – nothing could have harmonized so well with the peculiar feeling of each of his companions – as this sight. Accordingly they were soon a-foot, and walking in the direction of the scene of action, towards which crowds of people were already pouring from a variety of quarters.
The appearance of everything on the Lines denoted that the approaching ceremony was one of the utmost grandeur and importance. There were sentries posted to keep the ground for the troops, and servants on the batteries keeping places for the ladies, and sergeants running to and fro, with vellum-covered books under their arms, and Colonel Bulder, in full military uniform, on horseback, galloping first to one place and then to another, and backing his horse among the people, and prancing , and curveting, and shouting in a most alarming manner, and making himself very hoarse in the voice, and very red in the face, without an assignable cause or reason whatsoever. Officers were running backwards and forwards, first communicating with Colonel Bulder, and then ordering the sergeants, and the running away altogether, and even the very privates themselves look from behind their glazed stocks with an air of mysterious solemnity, which sufficiently bespoke the special nature of the occasion…
… At length the low roar of many voices ran through the crowd, which usually announced the arrival of whatever they have been waiting for. All eyes were turned in the direction of the sally-port. A few moments of eager expectation, and colours were seen fluttering gaily in the air, arms glistened brightly in the sun, column after column poured on to the plain. The troops halted and formed, the word of command run through the line, there was a general clash of muskets as arms were presented, and the commander-in-chief, attended by Colonel Bulder and numerous officers, cantered to the front. The military bands struck up altogether; the horses stood upon two legs each, cantered backwards, and whisked their tails about in all directions: the dogs barked, the mob screamed, the troops recovered, and nothing was to be seen on either side, as far as the eye could reach, but a long perspective of red coats and white trousers, fixed and motionless.
“… ‘It is indeed a noble and a brilliant sight,’ said Mr. Snodgrass, in whose bosom a blaze of poetry was rapidly bursting forth, ‘to see the gallant defenders of their country drawn up in brilliant array before the peaceful citizens, their faces beaming – not with warlike ferocity, but with civilized gentleness; their eyes flashing – not with the rude fire of rapine or revenge, but with the soft light of humanity and intelligence.”
Mr. Pickwick fully entered into the spirit of this eulogium, but he could not exactly re-echo its terms, for the soft light of intelligence burnt rather feebly in the eyes of the warriors, inasmuch as the command “eyes front” had been given, and all the spectator saw before him was several thousand pairs of optics, staring forward, wholly divested of any expression whatever.
“We are in a capital situation now,” said Mr. Pickwick, looking round him. The crowd had dispersed in their immediate vicinity, and they were nearly alone.
“Capital!” echoed both Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle.
“What are they doing now?” inquired Mr. Pickwick, adjusting his spectacles.
“I-I-rather think,” said Mr. Winkle, changing colour – “I rather think they’re going to fire.”
“Nonsense,” said Mr. Pickwick, hastily.
“I-I-really think they are,” urged Mr. Snodgrass, somewhat alarmed.
Impossible,” replied Mr. Pickwick. He had hardly uttered the word, when the whole half-dozen regiments leveled their muskets as if they had but one common object, and that object the Pickwickians, and burst forth with the most awful and tremendous discharged that ever shook the earth to its center, or an elderly gentleman off his.
It was in this trying situation, exposed to a galling fire of blank cartridges, and harassed by the operations of the military, a fresh body of whom had begin to fall in on the opposide side, that Mr. Pickwick displayed that perfect coolness and self-possession, which are the indispensable accompaniments of a great mind. He seized Mr. Winkle by the arm, and placing himself between that gentleman and Mr. Snodgrass, earnestly besought them to remember that beyond the possibility of being rendered deaf by the noise, there was no immediate danger to be apprehended from the firing.
“But – but – suppose some of the men should happen to have ball cartridges by mistake, “ remonstrated Mr. Winkle, pallid at the supposition he was himself conjuring up. “I heard something whistle through the air just now – so sharp, close to my ear.”
“No, no – it’s over now,” said Mr. Pickwick. His lip might quiver, and his cheek might blanch, but no expression of fear or concern escaped the lips of t hat immortal man.
Mr. Pickwick was right: he firing ceased; but he had scarcely time to congratulate himself on the accuracy of his opinion, when a quick movement was visible in the line: the hoarse shout of the word of command ran along it, and before either of the party could form a guess at the meaning of this new manoeuvre, the whole of the half-dozen regiments, with fixed bayonets, charged at double quick time down upon the very spot on which Mr. Pickwick and his friends were stationed…
…The opposite troops, whose falling in had perplexed Mr. Pickwick a few seconds before, were drawn up to repel the mimic attack of the sham besiegers of the citadel; and the consequence was that Mr. Pickwick and his two companions found themselves suddenly inclosed between two lines of great length, the one advancing at a rapid pace, and the other firmly waiting the collision in hostile array.
“Hoi!” shouted the officers of the advancing line.
“Get out of the way,” cried the officers of the stationary one.
“Where are we to go to?” screamed the agitated Pickwickians.
“Hoi-hoi-hoi” was the only reply. There was a moment of tense bewilderment, a heavy tramp of footsteps, a violent concussion, a smothered laugh; the half-dozen regiments were half a thousand yards off, and the soles of Mr. Pickwick’s boots were elevated in air.
“…Astounding evolutions they were, one rank firing over the heads of another rank, and the running away, and then the other rank firing over the heads of another rank, and running away in their turn; and then forming squares, with officers in the center; and then descending the trench on one side with scaling ladders, and ascending it on the other again by the same means; and knocking down barricades of the baskets, and behaving in the most gallant manner possible. Then there was such a ramming down of the contents of enormous guns on the battery, with instruments like magnified mops, such a preparation before they were let off, and such an awful noise when they did go, that they air resounded with the screams of ladies… Everybody was excited, expect the fat boy, and he slept as soundly as if the roaring of cannon were his ordinary lullaby.
“Joe, Joe!” said the stout gentleman, when the citadel was taken, and the besiegers and besieged sat down to dinner…”
“ … the spectacles and pocket-glass were again adjusted – and the evolutions of the military recommenced. There was a great fizzing and banging of guns, and starting of ladies – and then a mine was sprung, to the gratification of everybody – and when the mine had gone off, the military and the company follow its example, and went off too."
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