第 30 页

whine. ‘Oh, my eyes and limbs, what do you want? Oh, my lungs and liver,

what do you want? Oh, goroo, goroo!’

I was so much dismayed by these words, and particularly by the

repetition of the last unknown one, which was a kind of rattle in his

throat, that I could make no answer; hereupon the old man, still holding

me by the hair, repeated:

‘Oh, what do you want? Oh, my eyes and limbs, what do you want? Oh, my

lungs and liver, what do you want? Oh, goroo!’--which he screwed out of

himself, with an energy that made his eyes start in his head.

‘I wanted to know,’ I said, trembling, ‘if you would buy a jacket.’

‘Oh, let’s see the jacket!’ cried the old man. ‘Oh, my heart on fire,

show the jacket to us! Oh, my eyes and limbs, bring the jacket out!’

With that he took his trembling hands, which were like the claws of a

great bird, out of my hair; and put on a pair of spectacles, not at all

ornamental to his inflamed eyes.

‘Oh, how much for the jacket?’ cried the old man, after examining it.

‘Oh--goroo!--how much for the jacket?’

‘Half-a-crown,’ I answered, recovering myself.

‘Oh, my lungs and liver,’ cried the old man, ‘no! Oh, my eyes, no! Oh,

my limbs, no! Eighteenpence. Goroo!’

Every time he uttered this ejaculation, his eyes seemed to be in danger

of starting out; and every sentence he spoke, he delivered in a sort

of tune, always exactly the same, and more like a gust of wind, which

begins low, mounts up high, and falls again, than any other comparison I

can find for it.

‘Well,’ said I, glad to have closed the bargain, ‘I’ll take

eighteenpence.’

‘Oh, my liver!’ cried the old man, throwing the jacket on a shelf. ‘Get

out of the shop! Oh, my lungs, get out of the shop! Oh, my eyes and

limbs--goroo!--don’t ask for money; make it an exchange.’ I never was

so frightened in my life, before or since; but I told him humbly that

I wanted money, and that nothing else was of any use to me, but that I

would wait for it, as he desired, outside, and had no wish to hurry

him. So I went outside, and sat down in the shade in a corner. And I sat

there so many hours, that the shade became sunlight, and the sunlight

became shade again, and still I sat there waiting for the money.

There never was such another drunken madman in that line of business,

I hope. That he was well known in the neighbourhood, and enjoyed the

reputation of having sold himself to the devil, I soon understood from

the visits he received from the boys, who continually came skirmishing

about the shop, shouting that legend, and calling to him to bring out

his gold. ‘You ain’t poor, you know, Charley, as you pretend. Bring out

your gold. Bring out some of the gold you sold yourself to the devil

for. Come! It’s in the lining of the mattress, Charley. Rip it open

and let’s have some!’ This, and many offers to lend him a knife for

the purpose, exasperated him to such a degree, that the whole day was a

succession of rushes on his part, and flights on the part of the boys.

Sometimes in his rage he would take me for one of them, and come at me,

mouthing as if he were going to tear me in pieces; then, remembering

me, just in time, would dive into the shop, and lie upon his bed, as I

thought from the sound of his voice, yelling in a frantic way, to his

own windy tune, the ‘Death of Nelson’; with an Oh! before every line,

and innumerable Goroos interspersed. As if this were not bad enough for

me, the boys, connecting me with the establishment, on account of the

patience and perseverance with which I sat outside, half-dressed, pelted

me, and used me very ill all day.

He made many attempts to induce me to consent to an exchange; at one

time coming out with a fishing-rod, at another with a fiddle, at another

with a cocked hat, at another with a flute. But I resisted all these

overtures, and sat there in desperation; each time asking him, with

tears in my eyes, for my money or my jacket. At last he began to pay me

in halfpence at a time; and was full two hours getting by easy stages to

a shilling.

‘Oh, my eyes and limbs!’ he then cried, peeping hideously out of the

shop, after a long pause, ‘will you go for twopence more?’

‘I can’t,’ I said; ‘I shall be starved.’

‘Oh, my lungs and liver, will you go for threepence?’

‘I would go for nothing, if I could,’ I said, ‘but I want the money

badly.’

‘Oh, go-roo!’ (it is really impossible to express how he twisted this

ejaculation out of himself, as he peeped round the door-post at me,

showing nothing but his crafty old head); ‘will you go for fourpence?’

I was so faint and weary that I closed with this offer; and taking the

money out of his claw, not without trembling, went away more hungry and

thirsty than I had ever been, a little before sunset. But at an expense

of threepence I soon refreshed myself completely; and, being in better

spirits then, limped seven miles upon my road.

My bed at night was under another haystack, where I rested comfortably,

after having washed my blistered feet in a stream, and dressed them as

well as I was able, with some cool leaves. When I took the road again

next morning, I found that it lay through a succession of hop-grounds

and orchards. It was sufficiently late in the year for the orchards

to be ruddy with ripe apples; and in a few places the hop-pickers were

already at work. I thought it all extremely beautiful, and made up

my mind to sleep among the hops that night: imagining some cheerful

companionship in the long perspectives of poles, with the graceful

leaves twining round them.

The trampers were worse than ever that day, and inspired me with a

dread that is yet quite fresh in my mind. Some of them were most

ferocious-looking ruffians, who stared at me as I went by; and stopped,

perhaps, and called after me to come back and speak to them, and when I

took to my heels, stoned me. I recollect one young fellow--a tinker, I

suppose, from his wallet and brazier--who had a woman with him, and

who faced about and stared at me thus; and then roared to me in such a

tremendous voice to come back, that I halted and looked round.

‘Come here, when you’re called,’ said the tinker, ‘or I’ll rip your

young body open.’

I thought it best to go back. As I drew nearer to them, trying to

propitiate the tinker by my looks, I observed that the woman had a black

eye.

‘Where are you going?’ said the tinker, gripping the bosom of my shirt

with his blackened hand.

‘I am going to Dover,’ I said.

‘Where do you come from?’ asked the tinker, giving his hand another turn

in my shirt, to hold me more securely.

‘I come from London,’ I said.

‘What lay are you upon?’ asked the tinker. ‘Are you a prig?’

‘N-no,’ I said.

‘Ain’t you, by G--? If you make a brag of your honesty to me,’ said the

tinker, ‘I’ll knock your brains out.’

With his disengaged hand he made a menace of striking me, and then

looked at me from head to foot.

‘Have you got the price of a pint of beer about you?’ said the tinker.

‘If you have, out with it, afore I take it away!’

I should certainly have produced it, but that I met the woman’s look,

and saw her very slightly shake her head, and form ‘No!’ with her lips.

‘I am very poor,’ I said, attempting to smile, ‘and have got no money.’

‘Why, what do you mean?’ said the tinker, looking so sternly at me, that

I almost feared he saw the money in my pocket.

‘Sir!’ I stammered.

‘What do you mean,’ said the tinker, ‘by wearing my brother’s silk

handkerchief! Give it over here!’ And he had mine off my neck in a

moment, and tossed it to the woman.

The woman burst into a fit of laughter, as if she thought this a joke,

and tossed it back to me, nodded once, as slightly as before, and made

the word ‘Go!’ with her lips. Before I could obey, however, the tinker

seized the handkerchief out of my hand with a roughness that threw me

away like a feather, and putting it loosely round his own neck, turned

upon the woman with an oath, and knocked her down. I never shall forget

seeing her fall backward on the hard road, and lie there with her bonnet

tumbled off, and her hair all whitened in the dust; nor, when I looked

back from a distance, seeing her sitting on the pathway, which was a

bank by the roadside, wiping the blood from her face with a corner of

her shawl, while he went on ahead.

This adventure frightened me so, that, afterwards, when I saw any of

these people coming, I turned back until I could find a hiding-place,

where I remained until they had gone out of sight; which happened so

often, that I was very seriously delayed. But under this difficulty, as

under all the other difficulties of my journey, I seemed to be sustained

and led on by my fanciful picture of my mother in her youth, before I

came into the world. It always kept me company. It was there, among

the hops, when I lay down to sleep; it was with me on my waking in the

morning; it went before me all day. I have associated it, ever since,

with the sunny street of Canterbury, dozing as it were in the hot light;

and with the sight of its old houses and gateways, and the stately,

grey Cathedral, with the rooks sailing round the towers. When I came,

at last, upon the bare, wide downs near Dover, it relieved the solitary

aspect of the scene with hope; and not until I reached that first great

aim of my journey, and actually set foot in the town itself, on the

sixth day of my flight, did it desert me. But then, strange to say,

when I stood with my ragged shoes, and my dusty, sunburnt, half-clothed

figure, in the place so long desired, it seemed to vanish like a dream,

and to leave me helpless and dispirited.

I inquired about my aunt among the boatmen first, and received various

answers. One said she lived in the South Foreland Light, and had singed

her whiskers by doing so; another, that she was made fast to the great

buoy outside the harbour, and could only be visited at half-tide; a

third, that she was locked up in Maidstone jail for child-stealing; a

fourth, that she was seen to mount a broom in the last high wind, and

make direct for Calais. The fly-drivers, among whom I inquired next,

were equally jocose and equally disrespectful; and the shopkeepers, not

liking my appearance, generally replied, without hearing what I had

to say, that they had got nothing for me. I felt more miserable and

destitute than I had done at any period of my running away. My money was

all gone, I had nothing left to dispose of; I was hungry, thirsty, and

worn out; and seemed as distant from my end as if I had remained in

London.

The morning had worn away in these inquiries, and I was sitting on

the step of an empty shop at a street corner, near the market-place,

deliberating upon wandering towards those other places which had been

mentioned, when a fly-driver, coming by with his carriage, dropped a

horsecloth. Something good-natured in the man’s face, as I handed it up,

encouraged me to ask him if he could tell me where Miss Trotwood lived;

though I had asked the question so often, that it almost died upon my

lips.

‘Trotwood,’ said he. ‘Let me see. I know the name, too. Old lady?’

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘rather.’

‘Pretty stiff in the back?’ said he, making himself upright.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I should think it very likely.’

‘Carries a bag?’ said he--‘bag with a good deal of room in it--is

gruffish, and comes down upon you, sharp?’

My heart sank within me as I acknowledged the undoubted accuracy of this

description.

‘Why then, I tell you what,’ said he. ‘If you go up there,’ pointing

with his whip towards the heights, ‘and keep right on till you come to

some houses facing the sea, I think you’ll hear of her. My opinion is

she won’t stand anything, so here’s a penny for you.’

I accepted the gift thankfully, and bought a loaf with it. Dispatching

this refreshment by the way, I went in the direction my friend had

indicated, and walked on a good distance without coming to the houses

he had mentioned. At length I saw some before me; and approaching them,

went into a little shop (it was what we used to call a general shop,

at home), and inquired if they could have the goodness to tell me where

Miss Trotwood lived. I addressed myself to a man behind the counter,

who was weighing some rice for a young woman; but the latter, taking the

inquiry to herself, turned round quickly.

‘My mistress?’ she said. ‘What do you want with her, boy?’

‘I want,’ I replied, ‘to speak to her, if you please.’

‘To beg of her, you mean,’ retorted the damsel.

‘No,’ I said, ‘indeed.’ But suddenly remembering that in truth I came

for no other purpose, I held my peace in confusion, and felt my face

burn.

My aunt’s handmaid, as I supposed she was from what she had said, put

her rice in a little basket and walked out of the shop; telling me that

I could follow her, if I wanted to know where Miss Trotwood lived. I

needed no second permission; though I was by this time in such a state

of consternation and agitation, that my legs shook under me. I followed

the young woman, and we soon came to a very neat little cottage with

cheerful bow-windows: in front of it, a small square gravelled court or

garden full of flowers, carefully tended, and smelling deliciously.

‘This is Miss Trotwood’s,’ said the young woman. ‘Now you know; and

that’s all I have got to say.’ With which words she hurried into the

house, as if to shake off the responsibility of my appearance; and left

me standing at the garden-gate, looking disconsolately over the top of

it towards the parlour window, where a muslin curtain partly undrawn

in the middle, a large round green screen or fan fastened on to the

windowsill, a small table, and a great chair, suggested to me that my

aunt might be at that moment seated in awful state.

My shoes were by this time in a woeful condition. The soles had shed

themselves bit by bit, and the upper leathers had broken and burst until

the very shape and form of shoes had departed from them. My hat (which

had served me for a night-cap, too) was so crushed and bent, that no old

battered handleless saucepan on a dunghill need have been ashamed to vie

with it. My shirt and trousers, stained with heat, dew, grass, and