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Charles Dickens 3 page

improving himself with their conversation, and rolling in

the lap of luxury. Would he have been doing that? No, he

wouldn’t. And what would have been your destination?’

turning on me again. ‘You would have been disposed of for

so many shillings according to the market price of the ar-

ticle, and Dunstable the butcher would have come up to you

as you lay in your straw, and he would have whipped you

under his left arm, and with his right he would have tucked

up his frock to get a penknife from out of his waistcoat-

pocket, and he would have shed your blood and had your

life. No bringing up by hand then. Not a bit of it!’

Joe offered me more gravy, which I was afraid to take.

‘He was a world of trouble to you, ma’am,’ said Mrs. Hub-

ble, commiserating my sister.

‘Trouble?’ echoed my sister; ‘trouble?’ and then entered

on a fearful catalogue of all the illnesses I had been guilty

of, and all the acts of sleeplessness I had committed, and all

the high places I had tumbled from, and all the low places

I had tumbled into, and all the injuries I had done myself,

and all the times she had wished me in my grave, and I had

contumaciously refused to go there.

I think the Romans must have aggravated one anoth-

er very much, with their noses. Perhaps, they became the

 

Great Expectations

restless people they were, in consequence. Anyhow, Mr.

Wopsle’s Roman nose so aggravated me, during the recital

of my misdemeanours, that I should have liked to pull it

until he howled. But, all I had endured up to this time, was

nothing in comparison with the awful feelings that took

possession of me when the pause was broken which ensued

upon my sister’s recital, and in which pause everybody had

looked at me (as I felt painfully conscious) with indignation

and abhorrence.

‘Yet,’ said Mr. Pumblechook, leading the company gently

back to the theme from which they had strayed, ‘Pork - re-

garded as biled - is rich, too; ain’t it?’

‘Have a little brandy, uncle,’ said my sister.

O Heavens, it had come at last! He would find it was

weak, he would say it was weak, and I was lost! I held tight

to the leg of the table under the cloth, with both hands, and

awaited my fate.

My sister went for the stone bottle, came back with the

stone bottle, and poured his brandy out: no one else taking

any. The wretched man trifled with his glass - took it up,

looked at it through the light, put it down - prolonged my

misery. All this time, Mrs. Joe and Joe were briskly clearing

the table for the pie and pudding.

I couldn’t keep my eyes off him. Always holding tight by

the leg of the table with my hands and feet, I saw the mis-

erable creature finger his glass playfully, take it up, smile,

throw his head back, and drink the brandy off. Instantly

afterwards, the company were seized with unspeakable

consternation, owing to his springing to his feet, turning

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round several times in an appalling spasmodic whooping-



cough dance, and rushing out at the door; he then became

visible through the window, violently plunging and expec-

torating, making the most hideous faces, and apparently

out of his mind.

I held on tight, while Mrs. Joe and Joe ran to him. I didn’t

know how I had done it, but I had no doubt I had murdered

him somehow. In my dreadful situation, it was a relief when

he was brought back, and, surveying the company all round

as if they had disagreed with him, sank down into his chair

with the one significant gasp, ‘Tar!’

I had filled up the bottle from the tar-water jug. I knew

he would be worse by-and-by. I moved the table, like a Me-

dium of the present day, by the vigour of my unseen hold

upon it.

‘Tar!’ cried my sister, in amazement. ‘Why, how ever

could Tar come there?’

But, Uncle Pumblechook, who was omnipotent in that

kitchen, wouldn’t hear the word, wouldn’t hear of the

subject, imperiously waved it all away with his hand, and

asked for hot gin-and-water. My sister, who had begun to

be alarmingly meditative, had to employ herself actively in

getting the gin, the hot water, the sugar, and the lemon-peel,

and mixing them. For the time being at least, I was saved. I

still held on to the leg of the table, but clutched it now with

the fervour of gratitude.

By degrees, I became calm enough to release my grasp

and partake of pudding. Mr. Pumblechook partook of pud-

ding. All partook of pudding. The course terminated, and

 

Great Expectations

Mr. Pumblechook had begun to beam under the genial in-

fluence of gin-and-water. I began to think I should get over

the day, when my sister said to Joe, ‘Clean plates - cold.’

I clutched the leg of the table again immediately, and

pressed it to my bosom as if it had been the companion of

my youth and friend of my soul. I foresaw what was coming,

and I felt that this time I really was gone.

‘You must taste,’ said my sister, addressing the guests

with her best grace, ‘You must taste, to finish with, such a

delightful and delicious present of Uncle Pumblechook’s!’

Must they! Let them not hope to taste it!

‘You must know,’ said my sister, rising, ‘it’s a pie; a sa-

voury pork pie.’

The company murmured their compliments. Uncle

Pumblechook, sensible of having deserved well of his fel-

low-creatures, said - quite vivaciously, all things considered

- ‘Well, Mrs. Joe, we’ll do our best endeavours; 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

re-awakening appetite in the Roman nostrils of Mr. Wopsle.

I heard Mr. Hubble remark that ‘a bit of savoury pork pie

would lay atop of anything you could mention, and do no

harm,’ and I heard Joe say, ‘You shall have some, Pip.’ I have

never been absolutely certain whether I uttered a shrill yell

of terror, merely in spirit, or in the bodily hearing of the

company. I felt that I could bear no more, and that I must

run away. I released the leg of the table, and ran for my life.

But, I ran no further than the house door, for there I ran

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head foremost into a party of soldiers with their muskets:

one of whom held out a pair of handcuffs to me, saying,

‘Here you are, look sharp, come on!’

Great Expectations

Chapter 5

The apparition of a file of soldiers ringing down the butt-

ends of their loaded muskets on our door-step, caused

the dinner-party to rise from table in confusion, and caused

Mrs. Joe re-entering the kitchen empty-handed, to stop

short and stare, in her wondering lament of ‘Gracious good-

ness gracious me, what’s gone - with the - pie!’

The sergeant and I were in the kitchen when Mrs. Joe

stood staring; at which crisis I partially recovered the use of

my senses. It was the sergeant who had spoken to me, and

he was now looking round at the company, with his hand-

cuffs invitingly extended towards them in his right hand,

and his left on my shoulder.

‘Excuse me, ladies and gentleman,’ said the sergeant, ‘but

as I have mentioned at the door to this smart young shaver’

(which he hadn’t), ‘I am 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 to resent his being wanted at all.

‘Missis,’ returned the gallant sergeant, ‘speaking for my-

self, I should reply, the honour and pleasure of his fine wife’s

acquaintance; speaking for the king, I answer, a little job

done.’

This was received as rather neat in the sergeant; inso-

much that Mr Pumblechook cried audibly, ‘Good again!’

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‘You see, blacksmith,’ said the sergeant, who had by this

time picked out Joe with his eye, ‘we have had an accident

with these, and I find the lock of one of ‘em goes wrong, and

the coupling don’t act pretty. As they are wanted for imme-

diate service, will you throw your eye over them?’

Joe threw his eye over them, and pronounced that the job

would necessitate the lighting of his forge fire, and would

take nearer two hours than one, ‘Will it? Then will you set

about it at once, blacksmith?’ said the off-hand sergeant,

‘as it’s on his Majesty’s service. And if my men can beat a

hand anywhere, they’ll make themselves useful.’ With that,

he called to his men, who came trooping into the kitchen

one after another, and piled their arms in a corner. And

then they stood about, as soldiers do; now, with their hands

loosely clasped before them; now, resting a knee or a shoul-

der; now, easing a belt or a pouch; now, opening the door to

spit stiffly over their high stocks, out into the yard.

All these things I saw without then knowing that I saw

them, for I was in an agony of apprehension. But, beginning

to perceive that the handcuffs were not for me, and that the

military had so far got the better of the pie as to put it in the

background, I collected a little more of my scattered wits.

‘Would you give me the Time?’ said the sergeant, ad-

dressing himself to Mr. Pumblechook, as to a man whose

appreciative powers justified the inference that he was

equal to the time.

‘It’s just gone half-past two.’

‘That’s not so bad,’ said the sergeant, reflecting; ‘even if

I was forced to halt here nigh two hours, that’ll do. How

 

Great Expectations

far might you call yourselves from the marshes, hereabouts?

Not above a mile, I reckon?’

‘Just a mile,’ said Mrs. Joe.

‘That’ll do. We begin to close in upon ‘em about dusk. A

little before dusk, my orders are. That’ll do.’

‘Convicts, sergeant?’ asked Mr. Wopsle, in a matter-of-

course way.

‘Ay!’ returned the sergeant, ‘two. They’re pretty well

known to be out on the marshes still, and they won’t try to

get clear of ‘em before dusk. Anybody here seen anything of

any such game?’

Everybody, myself excepted, said no, with confidence.

Nobody thought of me.

‘Well!’ said the sergeant, ‘they’ll find themselves trapped

in a circle, I expect, sooner than they count on. Now, black-

smith! If you’re ready, his Majesty the King is.’

Joe had got his coat and waistcoat and cravat off, and his

leather apron on, and passed into the forge. One of the sol-

diers opened its wooden windows, another lighted the fire,

another turned to at the bellows, the rest stood round the

blaze, which was soon roaring. Then Joe began to hammer

and clink, hammer and clink, and we all looked on.

The interest of the impending pursuit not only absorbed

the general attention, but even made my sister liberal. She

drew a pitcher of beer from the cask, for the soldiers, and

invited the sergeant to take a glass of brandy. But Mr. Pum-

blechook said, sharply, ‘Give him wine, Mum. I’ll engage

there’s no Tar in that:’ so, the sergeant thanked him and

said that as he preferred his drink without tar, he would

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take wine, if it was equally convenient. When it was given

him, he drank his Majesty’s health and Compliments of the

Season, and took it all at a mouthful and smacked his lips.

‘Good stuff, eh, sergeant?’ said Mr. Pumblechook.

‘I’ll tell you something,’ returned the sergeant; ‘I suspect

that stuff’s of your providing.’

Mr. Pumblechook, with a fat sort of laugh, said, ‘Ay, ay?

Why?’

‘Because,’ returned the sergeant, clapping him on the

shoulder, ‘you’re a man that knows what’s what.’

‘D’ye think so?’ said Mr. Pumblechook, with his former

laugh. ‘Have another glass!’

‘With you. Hob and nob,’ returned the sergeant. ‘The top

of mine to the foot of yours - the foot of yours to the top of

mine - Ring once, ring twice - the best tune on the Musical

Glasses! Your health. May you live a thousand years, and

never be a worse judge of the right sort than you are at the

present moment of your life!’

The sergeant tossed off his glass again and seemed quite

ready for another glass. I noticed that Mr. Pumblechook in

his hospitality appeared to forget that he had made a pres-

ent of the wine, but took the bottle from Mrs. Joe and had

all the credit of handing it about in a gush of joviality. Even

I got some. And he was so very free of the wine that he even

called for the other bottle, and handed that about with the

same liberality, when the first was gone.

As I watched them while they all stood clustering about

the forge, enjoying themselves so much, I thought what

terrible good sauce for a dinner my fugitive friend on the

 

Great Expectations

marshes was. They had not enjoyed themselves a quarter

so much, before the entertainment was brightened with

the excitement he furnished. And now, when they were all

in lively anticipation of ‘the two villains’ being taken, and

when the bellows seemed to roar for the fugitives, the fire to

flare for them, the smoke to hurry away in pursuit of them,

Joe to hammer and clink for them, and all the murky shad-

ows on the wall to shake at them in menace as the blaze rose

and sank and the red-hot sparks dropped and died, the pale

after-noon outside, almost seemed in my pitying young

fancy to have turned pale on their account, poor wretches.

At last, Joe’s job was done, and the ringing and roaring

stopped. As Joe got on his coat, he mustered courage to

propose that some of us should go down with the soldiers

and see what came of the hunt. Mr. Pumblechook and Mr.

Hubble declined, on the plea of a pipe and ladies’ society;

but Mr. Wopsle said he would go, if Joe would. Joe said he

was agreeable, and would take me, if Mrs. Joe approved. We

never should have got leave to go, I am sure, but for Mrs.

Joe’s curiosity to know all about it and how it ended. As it

was, she merely stipulated, ‘If you bring the boy back with

his head blown to bits by a musket, don’t look to me to put

it together again.’

The sergeant took a polite leave of the ladies, and parted

from Mr. Pumblechook as from a comrade; though I doubt

if he were quite as fully sensible of that gentleman’s merits

under arid conditions, as when something moist was go-

ing. His men resumed their muskets and fell in. Mr. Wopsle,

Joe, and I, received strict charge to keep in the rear, and to

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speak no word after we reached the marshes. When we were

all out in the raw air and were steadily moving towards our

business, I treasonably whispered to Joe, ‘I hope, Joe, we

shan’t find them.’ and Joe whispered to me, ‘I’d give a shil-

ling if they had cut and run, Pip.’

We were joined by no stragglers from the village, for

the weather was cold and threatening, the way dreary, the

footing bad, darkness coming on, and the people had good

fires in-doors and were keeping the day. A few faces hurried

to glowing windows and looked after us, but none came

out. We passed the finger-post, and held straight on to the

churchyard. There, we were stopped a few minutes by a sig-

nal from the sergeant’s hand, while two or three of his men

dispersed themselves among the graves, and also examined

the porch. They came in again without finding anything,

and then we struck out on the open marshes, through the

gate at the side of the churchyard. A bitter sleet came rat-

tling against us here on the east wind, and Joe took me on

his back.

Now that we were out upon the dismal wilderness where

they little thought I had been within eight or nine hours and

had seen both men hiding, I considered for the first time,

with great dread, if we should come upon them, would my

particular convict suppose that it was I who had brought

the soldiers there? He had asked me if I was a deceiving imp,

and he had said I should be a fierce young hound if I joined

the hunt against him. Would he believe that I was both imp

and hound in treacherous earnest, and had betrayed him?

It was of no use asking myself this question now. There I

 

Great Expectations

was, on Joe’s back, and there was Joe beneath me, charging

at the ditches like a hunter, and stimulating Mr. Wopsle not

to tumble on his Roman nose, and to keep up with us. The

soldiers were in front of us, extending into a pretty wide line

with an interval between man and man. We were taking the

course I had begun with, and from which I had diverged in

the mist. Either the mist was not out again yet, or the wind

had dispelled it. Under the low red glare of sunset, the bea-

con, and the gibbet, and the mound of the Battery, and the

opposite shore of the river, were plain, though all of a wa-

tery lead colour.

With my heart thumping like a blacksmith at Joe’s broad

shoulder, I looked all about for any sign of the convicts. I

could see none, I could hear none. Mr. Wopsle had great-

ly alarmed me more than once, by his blowing and hard

breathing; but I knew the sounds by this time, and could

dissociate them from the object of pursuit. I got a dread-

ful start, when I thought I heard the file still going; but it

was only a sheep bell. The sheep stopped in their eating and

looked timidly at us; and the cattle, their heads turned from

the wind and sleet, stared angrily as if they held us respon-

sible for both annoyances; but, except these things, and the

shudder of the dying day in every blade of grass, there was

no break in the bleak stillness of the marshes.

The soldiers were moving on in the direction of the old

Battery, and we were moving on a little way behind them,

when, all of a sudden, we all stopped. For, there had reached

us on the wings of the wind and rain, a long shout. It was

repeated. It was at a distance towards the east, but it was

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long and loud. Nay, there seemed to be two or more shouts

raised together - if one might judge from a confusion in the

sound.

To this effect the sergeant and the nearest men were

speaking under their breath, when Joe and I came up. Af-

ter another moment’s listening, Joe (who was a good judge)

agreed, and Mr. Wopsle (who was a bad judge) agreed. The

sergeant, a decisive man, ordered that the sound should not

be answered, but that the course should be changed, and

that his men should make towards it ‘at the double.’ So we

slanted to the right (where the East was), and Joe pounded

away so wonderfully, that I had to hold on tight to keep my

seat.It was a run indeed now, and what Joe called, in the only

two words he spoke all the time, ‘a Winder.’ Down banks

and up banks, and over gates, and splashing into dykes,

and breaking among coarse rushes: no man cared where he

went. As we came nearer to the shouting, it became more

and more apparent that it was made by more than one voice.

Sometimes, it seemed to stop altogether, and then the sol-

diers stopped. When it broke out again, the soldiers made

for it at a greater rate than ever, and we after them. After a

while, we had so run it down, that we could hear one voice

calling ‘Murder!’ and another voice, ‘Convicts! Runaways!

Guard! This way for the runaway convicts!’ Then both voic-

es would seem to be stifled in a struggle, and then would

break out again. And when it had come to this, the soldiers

ran like deer, and Joe too.

The sergeant ran in first, when we had run the noise quite

 

Great Expectations

down, and two of his men ran in close upon him. Their piec-

es were cocked and levelled when we all ran in.

‘Here are both men!’ panted the sergeant, struggling at

the bottom of a ditch. ‘Surrender, you two! and confound

you for two wild beasts! Come asunder!’

Water was splashing, and mud was flying, and oaths

were being sworn, and blows were being struck, when some

more men went down into the ditch to help the sergeant,

and dragged out, separately, my convict and the other one.

Both were bleeding and panting and execrating and strug-

gling; but of course I knew them both directly.

‘Mind!’ said my convict, wiping blood from his face with

his ragged sleeves, and shaking torn hair from his fingers: ‘I

took him! I give him up to you! Mind that!’

‘It’s not much to be particular about,’ said the sergeant;

‘it’ll do you small good, my man, being in the same plight

yourself. Handcuffs there!’

‘I don’t expect it to do me any good. I don’t want it to do

me more good than it does now,’ said my convict, with a

greedy laugh. ‘I took him. He knows it. That’s enough for

me.’The other convict was livid to look at, and, in addition

to the old bruised left side of his face, seemed to be bruised

and torn all over. He could not so much as get his breath

to speak, until they were both separately handcuffed, but

leaned upon a soldier to keep himself from falling.

‘Take notice, guard - he tried to murder me,’ were his

first words.

‘Tried to murder him?’ said my convict, disdainfully.

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‘Try, and not do it? I took him, and giv’ him up; that’s what

I done. I not only prevented him getting off the marshes,

but I dragged him here - dragged him this far on his way

back. He’s a gentleman, if you please, this villain. Now, the

Hulks has got its gentleman again, through me. Murder

him? Worth my while, too, to murder him, when I could do

worse and drag him back!’

The other one still gasped, ‘He tried - he tried - to - mur-

der me. Bear - bear witness.’

‘Lookee here!’ said my convict to the sergeant. ‘Single-

handed I got clear of the prison-ship; I made a dash and I

done it. I could ha’ got clear of these death-cold flats like-

wise - look at my leg: you won’t find much iron on it - if I

hadn’t made the discovery that he was here. Let him go free?

Let him profit by the means as I found out? Let him make a

tool of me afresh and again? Once more? No, no, no. If I had

died at the bottom there;’ and he made an emphatic swing

at the ditch with his manacled hands; ‘I’d have held to him

with that grip, that you should have been safe to find him

in my hold.’

The other fugitive, who was evidently in extreme hor-

ror of his companion, repeated, ‘He tried to murder me. I

should have been a dead man if you had not come up.’

‘He lies!’ said my convict, with fierce energy. ‘He’s a liar

born, and he’ll die a liar. Look at his face; ain’t it written

there? Let him turn those eyes of his on me. I defy him to

do it.’

The other, with an effort at a scornful smile - which could

not, however, collect the nervous working of his mouth into

Great Expectations

any set expression - looked at the soldiers, and looked about

at the marshes and at the sky, but certainly did not look at

the speaker.

‘Do you see him?’ pursued my convict. ‘Do you see what

a villain he is? Do you see those grovelling and wandering

eyes? That’s how he looked when we were tried together. He

never looked at me.’

The other, always working and working his dry lips and

turning his eyes restlessly about him far and near, did at

last turn them for a moment on the speaker, with the words,

‘You are not much to look at,’ and with a half-taunting

glance at the bound hands. At that point, my convict be-

came so frantically exasperated, that he would have rushed

upon him but for the interposition of the soldiers. ‘Didn’t I

tell you,’ said the other convict then, ‘that he would murder

me, if he could?’ And any one could see that he shook with

fear, and that there broke out upon his lips, curious white

flakes, like thin snow.

‘Enough of this parley,’ said the sergeant. ‘Light those

torches.’

As one of the soldiers, who carried a basket in lieu of a

gun, went down on his knee to open it, my convict looked

round him for the first time, and saw me. I had alighted

from Joe’s back on the brink of the ditch when we came up,

and had not moved since. I looked at him eagerly when he

looked at me, and slightly moved my hands and shook my

head. I had been waiting for him to see me, that I might try

to assure him of my innocence. It was not at all expressed

to me that he even comprehended my intention, for he gave

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me a look that I did not understand, and it all passed in a

moment. But if he had looked at me for an hour or for a day,

I could not have remembered his face ever afterwards, as

having been more attentive.

The soldier with the basket soon got a light, and lighted

three or four torches, and took one himself and distribut-

ed the others. It had been almost dark before, but now it

seemed quite dark, and soon afterwards very dark. Before

we departed from that spot, four soldiers standing in a ring,

fired twice into the air. Presently we saw other torches kin-

dled at some distance behind us, and others on the marshes

on the opposite bank of the river. ‘All right,’ said the ser-

geant. ‘March.’

We had not gone far when three cannon were fired ahead

of us with a sound that seemed to burst something inside

my ear. ‘You are expected on board,’ said the sergeant to

my convict; ‘they know you are coming. Don’t straggle, my

man. Close up here.’

The two were kept apart, and each walked surrounded

by a separate guard. I had hold of Joe’s hand now, and Joe

carried one of the torches. Mr. Wopsle had been for going

back, but Joe was resolved to see it out, so we went on with

the party. There was a reasonably good path now, mostly on

the edge of the river, with a divergence here and there where

a dyke came, with a miniature windmill on it and a mud-

dy sluice-gate. When I looked round, I could see the other

lights coming in after us. The torches we carried, dropped

great blotches of fire upon the track, and I could see those,

too, lying smoking and flaring. I could see nothing else but

 

Great Expectations

black darkness. Our lights warmed the air about us with

their pitchy blaze, and the two prisoners seemed rather to

like that, as they limped along in the midst of the muskets.

We could not go fast, because of their lameness; and they

were so spent, that two or three times we had to halt while

they rested.

After an hour or so of this travelling, we came to a rough

wooden hut and a landing-place. There was a guard in the

hut, and they challenged, and the sergeant answered. Then,

we went into the hut where there was a smell of tobacco

and whitewash, and a bright fire, and a lamp, and a stand

of muskets, and a drum, and a low wooden bedstead, like

an overgrown mangle without the machinery, capable of

holding about a dozen soldiers all at once. Three or four sol-

diers who lay upon it in their great-coats, were not much


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