*I. HOW PIP HELPED THE CONVICT*
My father's family name being Pirrip, and my Christian name Philip, myinfant tongue could make of both names nothing longer than Pip. So Icalled myself Pip, and came to be called Pip.
I give Pirrip as my father's family name, on the authority of histombstone and my sister--Mrs. Joe Gargery, who married the blacksmith.As I never saw my father or my mother, my first fancies regarding whatthey were like were unreasonably derived from their tombstones.
Ours was the marsh country down by the river, within twenty miles of thesea. My most vivid memory of these early days was of a raw eveningabout dusk. At such a time I found out for certain that this bleak spotwhere I chanced to be wandering all alone was the churchyard; that thelow, leaden line beyond was the river; and that the small bundle ofshivers growing afraid of it all and beginning to cry was myself--Pip.
"Hold your noise!" cried a terrible voice, as a man started up fromamong the graves at the side of the church porch.
He was a fearful looking man, clad in coarse gray, covered with mud andbrambles, and with a great clanking chain upon his leg.
"Tell us your name!" said the man.
"Quick!"
"Pip, sir."
"Show us where you live," said the man. "P'int out the place!"
I pointed to where our village lay, on the flat in-shore among the treesa mile or more from the church.
The man, after looking at me for a moment, turned me upside-down andemptied my pockets. There was nothing in them but a piece of bread. Whenthe church came to itself--for he was so sudden and strong that he madeit go head-over-heels before me, and I saw the steeple under myfeet--when the church came to itself, I say, I was seated on a hightombstone, trembling, while he ate the bread ravenously.
"You young dog," said the man, licking his lips, "what fat cheeks youha' got."
I believe they were fat, though I was at that time undersized for myyears, and not strong.
"Darn _me_ if I couldn't eat 'em," said the man, with a threateningshake of his head, "and if I ha'nt half a mind to't!"
I earnestly expressed my hope that he wouldn't, and held tighter to thetombstone on which he had put me; partly to keep myself upon it; partlyto keep myself from crying.
"Now lookee here!" said the man. "Where's your mother?"
"There, sir!" said I.
He started, made a short run, and stopped and looked over his shoulder.
"There, sir!" I timidly explained, pointing to an inscription on astone; "that's my mother."
"Oh!" said he, coming back. "And is that your father alonger yourmother?"
"Yes, sir," said I; "him too; 'late of this parish.'"
"Ha!" he muttered then, considering. "Who d' ye live with--supposin'you're kindly let to live, which I ha'nt made up my mind about?"
"My sister, sir--Mrs. Joe Gargery--wife of Joe Gargery, the blacksmith,sir."
"Blacksmith, eh?" said he, and looked down at his leg.
After darkly looking at his leg and at me several times, he came closerto my tombstone, took me by both arms, and tilted me back as far as hecould hold me, so that his eyes looked most powerfully down into mine,and mine looked most helplessly up into his.
"Now lookee here," he said, "the question being whether you're to be letto live. You know what a file is?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you know what wittles is?"
"Yes, sir."
After each question he tilted me over a little more, so as to give me agreater sense of helplessness and danger.
"You get me a file." He tilted me again. "And you get me some wittles.If you don't--!"
He tilted me again and shook me till my teeth chattered.
"In--indeed--I will, sir," said I, "if you will only let me go. I'llrun all the way home."
"Well, see that you come back. But to-morrow morning willdo--early--before day. I'll wait for you here."
As he released me, I needed no second bidding, but scurried away as fastas I could, and soon reached the blacksmith shop.
My sister, Mrs. Joe Gargery, was more than twenty years older than I,and had established a great reputation with herself and the neighborsbecause she had brought me up "by hand." Having at that time to findout for myself what the expression meant, and knowing her to have a hardand heavy hand, and to be much in the habit of laying it upon herhusband as well as upon me, I supposed that Joe Gargery and I were bothbrought up by hand.
She was not a good-looking woman, my sister; and I had a generalimpression that she must have made Joe Gargery marry her by hand. Joewas a fair man, with curls of flaxen hair on each side of his smoothface, and with eyes of such a very undecided blue that they seemed tohave somehow got mixed with their own whites. He was a mild,good-natured, sweet-tempered, easy-going, foolish, dear fellow--a sortof Hercules in strength, and also in weakness.
My sister, Mrs. Joe, with black hair and eyes, had such a prevailingredness of skin that I sometimes used to wonder whether it was possibleshe washed herself with a nutmeg-grater instead of soap. She was talland bony, and almost always wore a coarse apron, fastened behind withtwo loops, and having a bib in front that was stuck full of pins andneedles.
Joe's forge adjoined our house, which was a wooden house, as many of thedwellings in our country were--most of them, at that time. When I ranhome from the churchyard the forge was shut up, and Joe was sittingalone in the kitchen. Joe and I being fellow-sufferers, and havingconfidences as such, Joe imparted a confidence to me the moment I raisedthe latch of the door and peeped in at him opposite to it, sitting inthe chimney corner.
"Mrs. Joe has been out a dozen times looking for you, Pip. And she'sout now, making it a baker's dozen."
"Is she?"
"Yes, Pip," said Joe; "and what's worse, she's got Tickler with her."
At this dismal intelligence, I twisted the only button on my waistcoatround and round, and looked in great depression at the fire. Ticklerwas a wax-ended piece of cane, worn smooth by collision with my tickledframe.
"She sot down," said Joe, "and she got up, and she made a grab atTickler, and she Rampaged out. That's what she did," said Joe, slowlyclearing the fire between the lower bars with the poker, and looking atit; "she Rampaged out, Pip."
"Has she been gone long, Joe?" I always treated him as no more than myequal.
"Well," said Joe, glancing up at the Dutch clock, "she's been on theRampage, this last spell, about five minutes, Pip. She's a coming! Getbehind the door, old chap, and have the jack-towel betwixt you."
I took the advice. My sister, Mrs. Joe, throwing the door wide open,and finding an obstruction behind it, immediately divined the cause, andapplied Tickler to its farther investigation.
"Where have you been?" she demanded, between tickles.
"I have only been to the churchyard," said I, crying and rubbing myself.
"Churchyard!" repeated my sister. "If it warn't for me you'd been tothe churchyard long ago, and stayed there! Who brought you up by hand?"
My thoughts strayed from that question as I looked disconsolately at thefire. For the fugitive out on the marshes with the ironed leg, thefile, the food, and the dreadful pledge I was under to steal, from undermy sister's very roof, rose before me in the avenging coals.
"Ha!" said Mrs. Joe, restoring Tickler to his station. "Churchyard,indeed! You may well say churchyard, you two." (One of us, by the by,had not said it at all.) "You'll drive _me_ to the churchyard betwixtyou, one of these days, and oh, a pr-r-recious pair you'd be withoutme!"
As she applied herself to set the tea-things, Joe peeped down at me overhis leg, as if he were mentally calculating what kind of pair we shouldmake, under such circumstances. After that, he sat feeling hisright-side flaxen curls and whisker, and following Mrs. Joe about withhis blue eyes, as his manner always was at squally times.
My sister had a sudden, severe way of cutting and buttering bread, whichnever varied. Now she ripped me off a section of loaf
, bidding me eatand be thankful. Though I was hungry, I dared not eat; for she was astrict housekeeper who would miss any further slices, and I must not letthat dreadful man out in the churchyard go hungry. So I resolved to putmy hunk of bread and butter down the leg of my trousers--a plan which Ipresently found the chance to carry out.
It was Christmas Eve, and I had to stir the pudding for next day with acopper-stick. I tried it with the load upon my leg (and that made methink afresh of the man with the load on _his_ leg), and found thetendency of exercise to bring the bread-and-butter out at my ankle quiteunmanageable. Happily, I slipped away and deposited that part of myconscience in my garret bedroom.
"Hark!" said I, when I had done my stirring, and was taking a final warmin the chimney corner before being sent up to bed; "was that great guns,Joe?"
"Ah!" said Joe. "There's another conwict off."
"What does that mean, Joe?" said I.
Mrs. Joe, who always took explanations upon herself, said snappishly,"Escaped. Escaped."
"There was a conwict off last night," added Joe, "after sunset-gun. Andthey fired warning of him. And now it appears they're firing warning ofanother."
"Who's firing?" said I.
"Drat that boy," interposed my sister, frowning at me over her work,"what a questioner he is. Ask no questions, and you'll be told nolies."
It was not very polite to herself, I thought, as she always answered.But she never was polite, unless there was company.
Presently Joe said to me in a quiet kind of whisper. "Hulks, Pip;prison ships. They're firing because one of the thieves on the hulks isgot away."
Thieves! Prison ships! And here I was planning to rob my sister of thebread and butter; and honest Joe of a file! Truly conscience is afearful thing, yet there was no turning back for me.
That night the rest of the dreadful deed was done. Just before daybreakI crept out, carrying the file which I had found among Joe's tools, theslice of bread, and a pie which was too convenient in the pantry, andwhich I took in the hope it was not intended for early use and would notbe missed for some time.
I found the man with the iron waiting for me, crouched behind atombstone.
"Are you alone?" he asked hoarsely.
"Yes, sir."
"No one following you?"
"No, sir."
"Well," said he, "I believe you. Give me them wittles, quick."
I had often watched a large dog of ours eating his food; and I nownoticed a decided similarity between the dog's way of eating and theman's. The man took strong, sharp, sudden bites, just like the dog. Heswallowed, or rather snapped up, every mouthful, too soon and too fast;and he looked sideways here and there while he ate, as if he thoughtthere was danger in every direction of somebody's coming to take the pieaway.
"Now give us hold of the file, boy," he said, when he had finishedswallowing.
I did so, and he bent to the iron like a madman, and began filing itaway in quick, fierce rasps. I judged this a good time to slip away,and he paid no further attention to me. The last I heard of him, thefile was still going.
"And where the mischief ha' you been?" was Mrs. Joe's Christmassalutation, when I and my conscience showed ourselves.
I said I had been down to hear the chimes.
"Ah, well!" observed Mrs. Joe. "You might ha' done worse."
Not a doubt of that, I thought.
We were to have a superb dinner--so Joe slyly told me--consisting of aleg of pork and greens, a pair of roast stuffed fowls, and a handsomepie which had been baked the day before.
I started when he spoke about the pie, but his blue eyes beamed upon mekindly.
My sister having so much to do, was going to church vicariously; that isto say, Joe and I were going. In his working clothes, Joe was awell-knit characteristic-looking blacksmith; in his holiday clothes, hewas more like a scarecrow in good circumstances, than anything else.Nothing that he wore then fitted him or seemed to belong to him. On thepresent festive occasion he emerged from his room, when the blithe bellswere ringing, the picture of misery, in a full suit of Sundaypenitentials. As to me, I think my sister must have had some generalidea that I was a young offender who must be punished each holy-day bybeing put into clothes so tight that I could on no account move my armsand legs without danger of something bursting.
Joe and I going to church, therefore, must have been a moving spectaclefor compassionate minds. Yet, what I suffered outside was nothing towhat I underwent within. The terrors that had assailed me whenever Mrs.Joe had gone near the pantry, or out of the room, were only to beequalled by the remorse with which my mind dwelt on what my hands haddone. Under the weight of my wicked secret, I pondered whether even theChurch would be powerful enough to shield me from the wrath to come.
Mr. Wopsle, the clerk at church, was to dine with us; and Mr. Hubble,the wheelwright, and Mrs. Hubble; and Uncle Pumblechook (Joe's uncle,but Mrs. Joe appropriated him), who was a well-to-do cornchandler in thenearest town, and drove his own chaise-cart. The dinner hour washalf-past one.
When Joe and I got home, we found the table laid, and Mrs. Joe dressed,and the dinner dressing, and the front door unlocked (it never was atany other time) for the company to enter by, and everything mostsplendid. And still, not a word of the robbery.
Oh, the agony of that festive dinner! During each helping of my plate Iate mechanically, hardly daring to lift my eyes, and clutchingfrantically at the leg of the table for support. With each mouthful wedrew nearer to that pie--and discovery! But as they chattered away, Ifelt a faint hope that they might perhaps forget the pie.
They did not, for presently my sister said to Joe, "Clean plates--cold."
I got a fresh hold on the table leg. I foresaw I was doomed.
"You must taste," said my sister, addressing the guests with her bestgrace, "you must finish with a pie, in honor of Uncle Pumblechook."
The company murmured their compliments. Uncle Pumblechook, sensible ofhaving deserved well of his fellow-creatures, said,--quite vivaciously,all things considered,--"Well, Mrs. Joe, we'll do our best endeavors;let us have a cut at this same pie."
My sister went out to get it. I heard her steps proceed to the pantry.I saw Mr. Pumblechook balance his knife. I saw reawakening appetite inthe Roman nostrils of Mr. Wopsle. I heard Mr. Hubble remark that "a bitof savory pie would lay atop of anything you could mention, and do noharm," and I heard Joe say "you shall have some, Pip." I have neverbeen absolutely certain whether I uttered a shrill yell of terror,merely in spirit, or in the bodily hearing of the company. I felt thatI could bear no more, and that I must run away. I released the leg ofthe table, and ran for my life.
But I ran no farther than the house door, for there I ran headforemostinto a party of soldiers with their muskets, one of whom held out a pairof handcuffs to me, saying, "Here you are, look sharp, come on!"
The vision of a file of soldiers caused the dinner party to rise fromthe table in confusion, and caused Mrs. Joe, re-entering the kitchenempty-handed, to stop short and stare, in her wondering lament of"Gracious goodness, gracious me, what's gone--with the--pie!"
"Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen," said the sergeant, "but as I havementioned at the door to this smart young shaver" (which he hadn't), "Iam on a chase in the name of the king, and I want the blacksmith."
"And pray, what might you want with him?" retorted my sister, quick toresent his being wanted at all.
"Missis," returned the gallant sergeant, "speaking for myself, I shouldreply, the honor and pleasure of his fine wife's acquaintance; speakingfor the king, I answer, a little job done."
This was received as rather neat in the sergeant; insomuch that Mr.Pumblechook cried audibly, "Good again!"
"You see, blacksmith," said the sergeant, who had by this time pickedout Joe with his eye, "we have had an accident with these, and I findthe lock of one of 'em goes wrong, and the coupling don't act pretty.As they are wanted for immediate service, will you throw your eye overthem?"
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br /> Joe threw his eye over them, and pronounced that the job wouldnecessitate the lighting of his forge fire, and would take nearer twohours than one.
"Will it? Then will you set about it at once, blacksmith," said theoff-hand sergeant, "as it's on his Majesty's service. And if my men canbear a hand anywhere, they'll make themselves useful." With that, hecalled to his men, who came trooping into the kitchen one after another,and piled their arms in a corner.
All these things I saw without then knowing that I saw them, for I wasin an agony of apprehension. But, beginning to perceive that thehandcuffs were not for me, and that the military had so far got thebetter of the pie as to put it in the background, I collected a littlemore of my scattered wits.
PIP BRINGS THE CONVICT SOME FOOD.]
The soldiers were out hunting for the convicts that had escaped. And assoon as Joe had mended the handcuffs, they fell in line and startedagain for the marshes. Joe caught an appealing look from me, andtimidly asked if he and I might go along with them. The consent wasgiven and away we went.
After a rough journey over bogs and through briars, a loud shout fromthe soldiers in front announced that one of the fugitives had beencaught. We ran hastily up and peered into a ditch. It was my convict.
He was hustled into the handcuffs and hustled up a hill where stood arough hut or sentry-box, and here we halted to rest.
My convict never looked at me, except once. While we were in the hut, hestood before the fire looking thoughtfully at it, or putting up his feetby turns upon the hob. Suddenly he turned to the sergeant and remarked:
"I wish to say something respecting this escape. It may prevent somepersons laying under suspicion alonger me."
"You can say what you like," returned the sergeant, standing coollylooking at him with his arms folded, "but you have no call to say ithere. You'll have opportunity enough to say about it, and hear aboutit, before it's done with, you know."
"I know, but this is another p'int, a separate matter. A man can'tstarve; at least _I_ can't. I took some wittles, up at the village overyonder--where the church stands a'most out on the marshes."
"You mean stole," said the sergeant.
"And I'll tell you where from. From the blacksmith's."
"Hallo!" said the sergeant, staring at Joe.
"Hallo, Pip!" said Joe, staring at me.
"It was some broken wittle--that's what it was--and a dram of liquor,and a pie."
"Have you happened to miss such an article as a pie, blacksmith?" askedthe sergeant, confidentially.
"My wife did, at the very moment when you came in. Don't you know,Pip?"
"So," said my convict, turning his eyes on Joe in a moody manner, andwithout the least glance at me; "so you're the blacksmith, are you?Then I'm sorry to say I've eat your pie."
"God knows you're welcome to it--so far as it was ever mine," returnedJoe, with a saving remembrance of Mrs. Joe. "We don't know what youhave done, but we wouldn't have you starve to death for it, poormiserable fellow-creatur. Would us, Pip?"
Something that I had noticed before clicked in the man's throat again,and he turned his back. The boat had returned, and his guard wereready, so we followed him to the landing-place made of rough stakes andstones, and saw him put into the boat, which was rowed by a crew ofconvicts like himself. No one seemed surprised to see him, but theylooked at him stolidly and rowed him back to the hulks as a matter ofcourse.
My state of mind regarding the pie was curious. I do not recall that Ifelt any tenderness of conscience in reference to Mrs. Joe, when thefear of being found out was lifted off me. But I loved Joe--perhaps forno better reason in those early days than because the dear fellow let melove him--and, as to him, my inner self was not so easily composed. Itwas much upon my mind (particularly when I first saw him looking aboutfor his file) that I ought to tell Joe the whole truth. Yet I did not,and for the reason that I mistrusted that if I did he would think meworse than I was. The fear of losing Joe's confidence and of thenceforthsitting in the chimney corner at night staring drearily at my foreverlost companion and friend, tied up my tongue. And so the whole truthnever came out.
Stories from Dickens Page 14
