Chapter II.

My sister, Mrs. Joe Gargery, was more than twenty years older than I,rnand had established a great reputation with herself and the neighboursrnbecause she had brought me up “by hand.” Having at that time to findrnout for myself what the expression meant, and knowing her to have arnhard and heavy hand, and to be much in the habit of laying it upon herrnhusband as well as upon me, I supposed that Joe Gargery and I were bothrnbrought up by hand.rnrnShe was not a good-looking woman, my sister; and I had a generalrnimpression that she must have made Joe Gargery marry her by hand. Joernwas a fair man, with curls of flaxen hair on each side of his smoothrnface, and with eyes of such a very undecided blue that they seemed tornhave somehow got mixed with their own whites. He was a mild,rngood-natured, sweet-tempered, easy-going, foolish, dear fellow,—a sortrnof Hercules in strength, and also in weakness.rnrnMy sister, Mrs. Joe, with black hair and eyes, had such a prevailingrnredness of skin that I sometimes used to wonder whether it was possiblernshe washed herself with a nutmeg-grater instead of soap. She was tallrnand bony, and almost always wore a coarse apron, fastened over herrnfigure behind with two loops, and having a square impregnable bib inrnfront, that was stuck full of pins and needles. She made it a powerfulrnmerit in herself, and a strong reproach against Joe, that she wore thisrnapron so much. Though I really see no reason why she should have wornrnit at all; or why, if she did wear it at all, she should not have takenrnit off, every day of her life.rnrnJoe’s forge adjoined our house, which was a wooden house, as many ofrnthe dwellings in our country were,—most of them, at that time. When Irnran home from the churchyard, the forge was shut up, and Joe wasrnsitting alone in the kitchen. Joe and I being fellow-sufferers, andrnhaving confidences as such, Joe imparted a confidence to me, the momentrnI raised the latch of the door and peeped in at him opposite to it,rnsitting in the chimney corner.rnrn“Mrs. Joe has been out a dozen times, looking for you, Pip. And she’srnout now, making it a baker’s dozen.”rnrn“Is she?”rnrn“Yes, Pip,” said Joe; “and what’s worse, she’s got Tickler with her.”rnrnAt this dismal intelligence, I twisted the only button on my waistcoatrnround and round, and looked in great depression at the fire. Ticklerrnwas a wax-ended piece of cane, worn smooth by collision with my tickledrnframe.rnrn“She sot down,” said Joe, “and she got up, and she made a grab atrnTickler, and she Ram-paged out. That’s what she did,” said Joe, slowlyrnclearing the fire between the lower bars with the poker, and looking atrnit; “she Ram-paged out, Pip.”rnrn“Has she been gone long, Joe?” I always treated him as a larger speciesrnof child, and as no more than my equal.rnrn“Well,” said Joe, glancing up at the Dutch clock, “she’s been on thernRam-page, this last spell, about five minutes, Pip. She’s a-coming! Getrnbehind the door, old chap, and have the jack-towel betwixt you.”rnrnI took the advice. My sister, Mrs. Joe, throwing the door wide open,rnand finding an obstruction behind it, immediately divined the cause,rnand applied Tickler to its further investigation. She concluded byrnthrowing me—I often served as a connubial missile—at Joe, who, glad tornget hold of me on any terms, passed me on into the chimney and quietlyrnfenced me up there with his great leg.rnrn“Where have you been, you young monkey?” said Mrs. Joe, stamping herrnfoot. “Tell me directly what you’ve been doing to wear me away withrnfret and fright and worrit, or I’d have you out of that corner if yournwas fifty Pips, and he was five hundred Gargerys.”rnrn“I have only been to the churchyard,” said I, from my stool, crying andrnrubbing myself.rnrn“Churchyard!” repeated my sister. “If it warn’t for me you’d have beenrnto the churchyard long ago, and stayed there. Who brought you up byrnhand?”rnrn“You did,” said I.rnrn“And why did I do it, I should like to know?” exclaimed my sister.rnrnI whimpered, “I don’t know.”rnrn“_I_ don’t!” said my sister. “I’d never do it again! I know that. I mayrntruly say I’ve never had this apron of mine off since born you were.rnIt’s bad enough to be a blacksmith’s wife (and him a Gargery) withoutrnbeing your mother.”rnrnMy thoughts strayed from that question as I looked disconsolately atrnthe fire. For the fugitive out on the marshes with the ironed leg, thernmysterious young man, the file, the food, and the dreadful pledge I wasrnunder to commit a larceny on those sheltering premises, rose before mernin the avenging coals.rnrn“Hah!” said Mrs. Joe, restoring Tickler to his station. “Churchyard,rnindeed! You may well say churchyard, you two.” One of us, by the by,rnhad not said it at all. “You’ll drive _me_ to the churchyard betwixtrnyou, one of these days, and O, a pr-r-recious pair you’d be withoutrnme!”rnrnAs she applied herself to set the tea-things, Joe peeped down at mernover his leg, as if he were mentally casting me and himself up, andrncalculating what kind of pair we practically should make, under therngrievous circumstances foreshadowed. After that, he sat feeling hisrnright-side flaxen curls and whisker, and following Mrs. Joe about withrnhis blue eyes, as his manner always was at squally times.rnrnMy sister had a trenchant way of cutting our bread and butter for us,rnthat never varied. First, with her left hand she jammed the loaf hardrnand fast against her bib,—where it sometimes got a pin into it, andrnsometimes a needle, which we afterwards got into our mouths. Then sherntook some butter (not too much) on a knife and spread it on the loaf,rnin an apothecary kind of way, as if she were making a plaster,—usingrnboth sides of the knife with a slapping dexterity, and trimming andrnmoulding the butter off round the crust. Then, she gave the knife arnfinal smart wipe on the edge of the plaster, and then sawed a veryrnthick round off the loaf: which she finally, before separating from thernloaf, hewed into two halves, of which Joe got one, and I the other.rnrnOn the present occasion, though I was hungry, I dared not eat my slice.rnI felt that I must have something in reserve for my dreadfulrnacquaintance, and his ally the still more dreadful young man. I knewrnMrs. Joe’s housekeeping to be of the strictest kind, and that myrnlarcenous researches might find nothing available in the safe.rnTherefore I resolved to put my hunk of bread and butter down the leg ofrnmy trousers.rnrnThe effort of resolution necessary to the achievement of this purpose Irnfound to be quite awful. It was as if I had to make up my mind to leaprnfrom the top of a high house, or plunge into a great depth of water.rnAnd it was made the more difficult by the unconscious Joe. In ourrnalready-mentioned freemasonry as fellow-sufferers, and in hisrngood-natured companionship with me, it was our evening habit to comparernthe way we bit through our slices, by silently holding them up to eachrnother’s admiration now and then,—which stimulated us to new exertions.rnTo-night, Joe several times invited me, by the display of his fastrndiminishing slice, to enter upon our usual friendly competition; but hernfound me, each time, with my yellow mug of tea on one knee, and myrnuntouched bread and butter on the other. At last, I desperatelyrnconsidered that the thing I contemplated must be done, and that it hadrnbest be done in the least improbable manner consistent with therncircumstances. I took advantage of a moment when Joe had just looked atrnme, and got my bread and butter down my leg.rnrnJoe was evidently made uncomfortable by what he supposed to be my lossrnof appetite, and took a thoughtful bite out of his slice, which herndidn’t seem to enjoy. He turned it about in his mouth much longer thanrnusual, pondering over it a good deal, and after all gulped it down likerna pill. He was about to take another bite, and had just got his head onrnone side for a good purchase on it, when his eye fell on me, and he sawrnthat my bread and butter was gone.rnrnThe wonder and consternation with which Joe stopped on the threshold ofrnhis bite and stared at me, were too evident to escape my sister’srnobservation.rnrn“What’s the matter _now_?” said she, smartly, as she put down her cup.rnrn“I say, you know!” muttered Joe, shaking his head at me in very seriousrnremonstrance. “Pip, old chap! You’ll do yourself a mischief. It’llrnstick somewhere. You can’t have chawed it, Pip.”rnrn“What’s the matter now?” repeated my sister, more sharply than before.rnrn“If you can cough any trifle on it up, Pip, I’d recommend you to dornit,” said Joe, all aghast. “Manners is manners, but still your elth’srnyour elth.”rnrnBy this time, my sister was quite desperate, so she pounced on Joe,rnand, taking him by the two whiskers, knocked his head for a littlernwhile against the wall behind him, while I sat in the corner, lookingrnguiltily on.rnrn“Now, perhaps you’ll mention what’s the matter,” said my sister, out ofrnbreath, “you staring great stuck pig.”rnrnJoe looked at her in a helpless way, then took a helpless bite, andrnlooked at me again.rnrn“You know, Pip,” said Joe, solemnly, with his last bite in his cheek,rnand speaking in a confidential voice, as if we two were quite alone,“you and me is always friends, and I’d be the last to tell upon you,rnany time. But such a—” he moved his chair and looked about the floorrnbetween us, and then again at me—“such a most oncommon Bolt as that!”rnrn“Been bolting his food, has he?” cried my sister.rnrn“You know, old chap,” said Joe, looking at me, and not at Mrs. Joe,rnwith his bite still in his cheek, “I Bolted, myself, when I was yourrnage—frequent—and as a boy I’ve been among a many Bolters; but I neverrnsee your Bolting equal yet, Pip, and it’s a mercy you ain’t Boltedrndead.”rnrnMy sister made a dive at me, and fished me up by the hair, sayingrnnothing more than the awful words, “You come along and be dosed.”rnrnSome medical beast had revived Tar-water in those days as a finernmedicine, and Mrs. Joe always kept a supply of it in the cupboard;rnhaving a belief in its virtues correspondent to its nastiness. At thernbest of times, so much of this elixir was administered to me as arnchoice restorative, that I was conscious of going about, smelling likerna new fence. On this particular evening the urgency of my case demandedrna pint of this mixture, which was poured down my throat, for my greaterrncomfort, while Mrs. Joe held my head under her arm, as a boot would bernheld in a bootjack. Joe got off with half a pint; but was made tornswallow that (much to his disturbance, as he sat slowly munching andrnmeditating before the fire), “because he had had a turn.” Judging fromrnmyself, I should say he certainly had a turn afterwards, if he had hadrnnone before.rnrnConscience is a dreadful thing when it accuses man or boy; but when, inrnthe case of a boy, that secret burden co-operates with another secretrnburden down the leg of his trousers, it is (as I can testify) a greatrnpunishment. The guilty knowledge that I was going to rob Mrs. Joe—Irnnever thought I was going to rob Joe, for I never thought of any of thernhousekeeping property as his—united to the necessity of always keepingrnone hand on my bread and butter as I sat, or when I was ordered aboutrnthe kitchen on any small errand, almost drove me out of my mind. Then,rnas the marsh winds made the fire glow and flare, I thought I heard thernvoice outside, of the man with the iron on his leg who had sworn me tornsecrecy, declaring that he couldn’t and wouldn’t starve untilrnto-morrow, but must be fed now. At other times, I thought, What if thernyoung man who was with so much difficulty restrained from imbruing hisrnhands in me should yield to a constitutional impatience, or shouldrnmistake the time, and should think himself accredited to my heart andrnliver to-night, instead of to-morrow! If ever anybody’s hair stood onrnend with terror, mine must have done so then. But, perhaps, nobody’srnever did?rnrnIt was Christmas Eve, and I had to stir the pudding for next day, withrna copper-stick, from seven to eight by the Dutch clock. I tried it withrnthe load upon my leg (and that made me think afresh of the man with thernload on _his_ leg), and found the tendency of exercise to bring thernbread and butter out at my ankle, quite unmanageable. Happily I slippedrnaway, and deposited that part of my conscience in my garret bedroom.rnrn“Hark!” said I, when I had done my stirring, and was taking a finalrnwarm in the chimney corner before being sent up to bed; “was that greatrnguns, Joe?”rnrn“Ah!” said Joe. “There’s another conwict off.”rnrn“What does that mean, Joe?” said I.rnrnMrs. Joe, who always took explanations upon herself, said, snappishly,“Escaped. Escaped.” Administering the definition like Tar-water.rnrnWhile Mrs. Joe sat with her head bending over her needlework, I put myrnmouth into the forms of saying to Joe, “What’s a convict?” Joe putrn_his_ mouth into the forms of returning such a highly elaborate answer,rnthat I could make out nothing of it but the single word “Pip.”rnrn“There was a conwict off last night,” said Joe, aloud, “afterrnsunset-gun. And they fired warning of him. And now it appears they’rernfiring warning of another.”rnrn“_Who’s_ firing?” said I.rnrn“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 nornlies.”rnrnIt was not very polite to herself, I thought, to imply that I should berntold lies by her even if I did ask questions. But she never was politernunless there was company.rnrnAt this point Joe greatly augmented my curiosity by taking the utmostrnpains to open his mouth very wide, and to put it into the form of arnword that looked to me like “sulks.” Therefore, I naturally pointed tornMrs. Joe, and put my mouth into the form of saying, “her?” But Joernwouldn’t hear of that, at all, and again opened his mouth very wide,rnand shook the form of a most emphatic word out of it. But I could makernnothing of the word.rnrn“Mrs. Joe,” said I, as a last resort, “I should like to know—if yournwouldn’t much mind—where the firing comes from?”rnrn“Lord bless the boy!” exclaimed my sister, as if she didn’t quite meanrnthat but rather the contrary. “From the Hulks!”rnrn“Oh-h!” said I, looking at Joe. “Hulks!”rnrnJoe gave a reproachful cough, as much as to say, “Well, I told you so.”rnrn“And please, what’s Hulks?” said I.rnrn“That’s the way with this boy!” exclaimed my sister, pointing me outrnwith her needle and thread, and shaking her head at me. “Answer him onernquestion, and he’ll ask you a dozen directly. Hulks are prison-ships,rnright ’cross th’ meshes.” We always used that name for marshes, in ourrncountry.rnrn“I wonder who’s put into prison-ships, and why they’re put there?” saidrnI, in a general way, and with quiet desperation.rnrnIt was too much for Mrs. Joe, who immediately rose. “I tell you what,rnyoung fellow,” said she, “I didn’t bring you up by hand to badgerrnpeople’s lives out. It would be blame to me and not praise, if I had.rnPeople are put in the Hulks because they murder, and because they rob,rnand forge, and do all sorts of bad; and they always begin by askingrnquestions. Now, you get along to bed!”rnrnI was never allowed a candle to light me to bed, and, as I wentrnupstairs in the dark, with my head tingling,—from Mrs. Joe’s thimblernhaving played the tambourine upon it, to accompany her last words,—Irnfelt fearfully sensible of the great convenience that the hulks werernhandy for me. I was clearly on my way there. I had begun by askingrnquestions, and I was going to rob Mrs. Joe.rnrnSince that time, which is far enough away now, I have often thoughtrnthat few people know what secrecy there is in the young under terror.rnNo matter how unreasonable the terror, so that it be terror. I was inrnmortal terror of the young man who wanted my heart and liver; I was inrnmortal terror of my interlocutor with the iron leg; I was in mortalrnterror of myself, from whom an awful promise had been extracted; I hadrnno hope of deliverance through my all-powerful sister, who repulsed mernat every turn; I am afraid to think of what I might have done onrnrequirement, in the secrecy of my terror.rnrnIf I slept at all that night, it was only to imagine myself driftingrndown the river on a strong spring-tide, to the Hulks; a ghostly piraterncalling out to me through a speaking-trumpet, as I passed therngibbet-station, that I had better come ashore and be hanged there atrnonce, and not put it off. I was afraid to sleep, even if I had beenrninclined, for I knew that at the first faint dawn of morning I must robrnthe pantry. There was no doing it in the night, for there was norngetting a light by easy friction then; to have got one I must havernstruck it out of flint and steel, and have made a noise like the veryrnpirate himself rattling his chains.rnrnAs soon as the great black velvet pall outside my little window wasrnshot with grey, I got up and went downstairs; every board upon the way,rnand every crack in every board calling after me, “Stop thief!” and “Getrnup, Mrs. Joe!” In the pantry, which was far more abundantly suppliedrnthan usual, owing to the season, I was very much alarmed by a harernhanging up by the heels, whom I rather thought I caught, when my backrnwas half turned, winking. I had no time for verification, no time forrnselection, no time for anything, for I had no time to spare. I stolernsome bread, some rind of cheese, about half a jar of mincemeat (which Irntied up in my pocket-handkerchief with my last night’s slice), somernbrandy from a stone bottle (which I decanted into a glass bottle I hadrnsecretly used for making that intoxicating fluid,rnSpanish-liquorice-water, up in my room: diluting the stone bottle fromrna jug in the kitchen cupboard), a meat bone with very little on it, andrna beautiful round compact pork pie. I was nearly going away without thernpie, but I was tempted to mount upon a shelf, to look what it was thatrnwas put away so carefully in a covered earthenware dish in a corner,rnand I found it was the pie, and I took it in the hope that it was notrnintended for early use, and would not be missed for some time.rnrnThere was a door in the kitchen, communicating with the forge; Irnunlocked and unbolted that door, and got a file from among Joe’s tools.rnThen I put the fastenings as I had found them, opened the door at whichrnI had entered when I ran home last night, shut it, and ran for thernmisty marshes.