Посмертные записки Пиквикского клуба

A Field Day and Bivouac — More new Friends — An Invitation to the Country

           ’‘Wehadbetterthrowourselvesonourfaces,hadn’twe?’saidMr.Snodgrass.

           ‘No,no—it’sovernow,’saidMr.Pickwick.Hislipmightquiver,andhischeekmightblanch,butnoexpressionoffearorconcernescapedthelipsofthatimmortalman.

           Mr.Pickwickwasright—thefiringceased;buthehadscarcelytimetocongratulatehimselfontheaccuracyofhisopinion,whenaquickmovementwasvisibleintheline;thehoarseshoutofthewordofcommandranalongit,andbeforeeitherofthepartycouldformaguessatthemeaningofthisnewmanoeuvre,thewholeofthehalf-dozenregiments,withfixedbayonets,chargedatdouble-quicktimedownupontheveryspotonwhichMr.Pickwickandhisfriendswerestationed.Manisbutmortal;andthereisapointbeyondwhichhumancouragecannotextend.Mr.Pickwickgazedthroughhisspectaclesforaninstantontheadvancingmass,andthenfairlyturnedhisbackand—wewillnotsayfled;firstly,becauseitisanignobleterm,and,secondly,becauseMr.Pickwick’sfigurewasbynomeansadaptedforthatmodeofretreat—hetrottedaway,atasquickarateashislegswouldconveyhim;soquickly,indeed,thathedidnotperceivetheawkwardnessofhissituation,tothefullextent,untiltoolate.

           Theoppositetroops,whosefalling-inhadperplexedMr.Pickwickafewsecondsbefore,weredrawnuptorepelthemimicattackoftheshambesiegersofthecitadel;andtheconsequencewasthatMr.

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