DAVID
COPPERFIELD
PART 7
CHAPTER 7. MY 'FIRST HALF' AT SALEM HOUSE
School
began in earnest next day. A profound impression was made upon me, I remember,
by the roar of voices in the schoolroom suddenly becoming hushed as death when
Mr. Creakle entered after breakfast, and stood in the doorway looking round
upon us like a giant in a story-book surveying his captives.
Tungay
stood at Mr. Creakle's elbow. He had no occasion, I thought, to cry out
'Silence!' so ferociously, for the boys were all struck speechless and
motionless.
Mr.
Creakle was seen to speak, and Tungay was heard, to this effect.
'Now,
boys, this is a new half. Take care what you're about, in this new half. Come
fresh up to the lessons, I advise you, for I come fresh up to the punishment. I
won't flinch. It will be of no use your rubbing yourselves; you won't rub the
marks out that I shall give you. Now get to work, every boy!'
When this
dreadful exordium was over, and Tungay had stumped out again, Mr. Creakle came
to where I sat, and told me that if I were famous for biting, he was famous for
biting, too. He then showed me the cane, and asked me what I thought of THAT,
for a tooth? Was it a sharp tooth, hey? Was it a double tooth, hey? Had it a
deep prong, hey? Did it bite, hey? Did it bite? At every question he gave me a
fleshy cut with it that made me writhe; so I was very soon made free of Salem
House (as Steerforth said), and was very soon in tears also.
Not that
I mean to say these were special marks of distinction, which only I received.
On the contrary, a large majority of the boys (especially the smaller ones)
were visited with similar instances of notice, as Mr. Creakle made the round of
the schoolroom. Half the establishment was writhing and crying, before the day's
work began; and how much of it had writhed and cried before the day's work was
over, I am really afraid to recollect, lest I should seem to exaggerate.
I should
think there never can have been a man who enjoyed his profession more than Mr.
Creakle did. He had a delight in cutting at the boys, which was like the
satisfaction of a craving appetite. I am confident that he couldn't resist a
chubby boy, especially; that there was a fascination in such a subject, which
made him restless in his mind, until he had scored and marked him for the day.
I was chubby myself, and ought to know. I am sure when I think of the fellow
now, my blood rises against him with the disinterested indignation I should
feel if I could have known all about him without having ever been in his power;
but it rises hotly, because I know him to have been an incapable brute, who had
no more right to be possessed of the great trust he held, than to be Lord High
Admiral, or Commander-in-Chief—in either of which capacities it is probable
that he would have done infinitely less mischief.
Miserable
little propitiators of a remorseless Idol, how abject we were to him! What a
launch in life I think it now, on looking back, to be so mean and servile to a
man of such parts and pretensions!
Here I sit
at the desk again, watching his eye—humbly watching his eye, as he rules a
ciphering-book for another victim whose hands have just been flattened by that
identical ruler, and who is trying to wipe the sting out with a
pocket-handkerchief. I have plenty to do. I don't watch his eye in idleness,
but because I am morbidly attracted to it, in a dread desire to know what he
will do next, and whether it will be my turn to suffer, or somebody else's. A
lane of small boys beyond me, with the same interest in his eye, watch it too.
I think he knows it, though he pretends he don't. He makes dreadful mouths as
he rules the ciphering-book; and now he throws his eye sideways down our lane,
and we all droop over our books and tremble. A moment afterwards we are again eyeing
him. An unhappy culprit, found guilty of imperfect exercise, approaches at his
command. The culprit falters excuses, and professes a determination to do
better tomorrow. Mr. Creakle cuts a joke before he beats him, and we laugh at
it,—miserable little dogs, we laugh, with our visages as white as ashes, and
our hearts sinking into our boots.
Here I
sit at the desk again, on a drowsy summer afternoon. A buzz and hum go up
around me, as if the boys were so many bluebottles. A cloggy sensation of the lukewarm
fat of meat is upon me (we dined an hour or two ago), and my head is as heavy
as so much lead. I would give the world to go to sleep. I sit with my eye on
Mr. Creakle, blinking at him like a young owl; when sleep overpowers me for a
minute, he still looms through my slumber, ruling those ciphering-books, until
he softly comes behind me and wakes me to plainer perception of him, with a red
ridge across my back.
Here I am
in the playground, with my eye still fascinated by him, though I can't see him.
The window at a little distance from which I know he is having his dinner,
stands for him, and I eye that instead. If he shows his face near it, mine
assumes an imploring and submissive expression. If he looks out through the
glass, the boldest boy (Steerforth excepted) stops in the middle of a shout or
yell, and becomes contemplative. One day, Traddles (the most unfortunate boy in
the world) breaks that window accidentally, with a ball. I shudder at this
moment with the tremendous sensation of seeing it done, and feeling that the
ball has bounded on to Mr. Creakle's sacred head.
Poor
Traddles! In a tight sky-blue suit that made his arms and legs like German
sausages, or roly-poly puddings, he was the merriest and most miserable of all
the boys. He was always being caned—I think he was caned every day that
half-year, except one holiday Monday when he was only ruler'd on both hands—and
was always going to write to his uncle about it, and never did. After laying
his head on the desk for a little while, he would cheer up, somehow, begin to
laugh again, and draw skeletons all over his slate, before his eyes were dry. I
used at first to wonder what comfort Traddles found in drawing skeletons; and
for some time looked upon him as a sort of hermit, who reminded himself by
those symbols of mortality that caning couldn't last for ever. But I believe he
only did it because they were easy, and didn't want any features.
He was
very honourable, Traddles was, and held it as a solemn duty in the boys to
stand by one another. He suffered for this on several occasions; and
particularly once, when Steerforth laughed in church, and the Beadle thought it
was Traddles, and took him out. I see him now, going away in custody, despised
by the congregation. He never said who was the real offender, though he smarted
for it next day, and was imprisoned so many hours that he came forth with a
whole churchyard-full of skeletons swarming all over his Latin Dictionary. But
he had his reward. Steerforth said there was nothing of the sneak in Traddles,
and we all felt that to be the highest praise. For my part, I could have gone
through a good deal (though I was much less brave than Traddles, and nothing
like so old) to have won such a recompense.
To see
Steerforth walk to church before us, arm-in-arm with Miss Creakle, was one of
the great sights of my life. I didn't think Miss Creakle equal to little Em'ly
in point of beauty, and I didn't love her (I didn't dare); but I thought her a
young lady of extraordinary attractions, and in point of gentility not to be
surpassed. When Steerforth, in white trousers, carried her parasol for her, I
felt proud to know him; and believed that she could not choose but adore him
with all her heart. Mr. Sharp and Mr. Mell were both notable personages in my
eyes; but Steerforth was to them what the sun was to two stars.
Steerforth
continued his protection of me, and proved a very useful friend; since nobody
dared to annoy one whom he honoured with his countenance. He couldn't—or at all
events he didn't—defend me from Mr. Creakle, who was very severe with me; but
whenever I had been treated worse than usual, he always told me that I wanted a
little of his pluck, and that he wouldn't have stood it himself; which I felt
he intended for encouragement, and considered to be very kind of him. There was
one advantage, and only one that I know of, in Mr. Creakle's severity. He found
my placard in his way when he came up or down behind the form on which I sat,
and wanted to make a cut at me in passing; for this reason it was soon taken
off, and I saw it no more.
An
accidental circumstance cemented the intimacy between Steerforth and me, in a
manner that inspired me with great pride and satisfaction, though it sometimes
led to inconvenience. It happened on one occasion, when he was doing me the
honour of talking to me in the playground, that I hazarded the observation that
something or somebody—I forget what now—was like something or somebody in
Peregrine Pickle. He said nothing at the time; but when I was going to bed at
night, asked me if I had got that book?
I told
him no, and explained how it was that I had read it, and all those other books
of which I have made mention.
'And do
you recollect them?' Steerforth said.
'Oh yes,'
I replied; I had a good memory, and I believed I recollected them very well.
'Then I
tell you what, young Copperfield,' said Steerforth, 'you shall tell 'em to me.
I can't get to sleep very early at night, and I generally wake rather early in
the morning. We'll go over 'em one after another. We'll make some regular
Arabian Nights of it.'
I felt
extremely flattered by this arrangement, and we commenced carrying it into
execution that very evening. What ravages I committed on my favourite authors
in the course of my interpretation of them, I am not in a condition to say, and
should be very unwilling to know; but I had a profound faith in them, and I
had, to the best of my belief, a simple, earnest manner of narrating what I did
narrate; and these qualities went a long way.
The
drawback was, that I was often sleepy at night, or out of spirits and
indisposed to resume the story; and then it was rather hard work, and it must
be done; for to disappoint or to displease Steerforth was of course out of the
question. In the morning, too, when I felt weary, and should have enjoyed
another hour's repose very much, it was a tiresome thing to be roused, like the
Sultana Scheherazade, and forced into a long story before the getting-up bell
rang; but Steerforth was resolute; and as he explained to me, in return, my
sums and exercises, and anything in my tasks that was too hard for me, I was no
loser by the transaction. Let me do myself justice, however. I was moved by no
interested or selfish motive, nor was I moved by fear of him. I admired and
loved him, and his approval was return enough. It was so precious to me that I
look back on these trifles, now, with an aching heart.
Steerforth
was considerate, too; and showed his consideration, in one particular instance,
in an unflinching manner that was a little tantalizing, I suspect, to poor
Traddles and the rest. Peggotty's promised letter—what a comfortable letter it
was!—arrived before 'the half' was many weeks old; and with it a cake in a
perfect nest of oranges, and two bottles of cowslip wine. This treasure, as in
duty bound, I laid at the feet of Steerforth, and begged him to dispense.
'Now,
I'll tell you what, young Copperfield,' said he: 'the wine shall be kept to wet
your whistle when you are story-telling.'
I blushed
at the idea, and begged him, in my modesty, not to think of it. But he said he
had observed I was sometimes hoarse—a little roopy was his exact expression—and
it should be, every drop, devoted to the purpose he had mentioned. Accordingly,
it was locked up in his box, and drawn off by himself in a phial, and
administered to me through a piece of quill in the cork, when I was supposed to
be in want of a restorative. Sometimes, to make it a more sovereign specific,
he was so kind as to squeeze orange juice into it, or to stir it up with
ginger, or dissolve a peppermint drop in it; and although I cannot assert that
the flavour was improved by these experiments, or that it was exactly the
compound one would have chosen for a stomachic, the last thing at night and the
first thing in the morning, I drank it gratefully and was very sensible of his
attention.
We seem,
to me, to have been months over Peregrine, and months more over the other
stories. The institution never flagged for want of a story, I am certain; and
the wine lasted out almost as well as the matter. Poor Traddles—I never think
of that boy but with a strange disposition to laugh, and with tears in my
eyes—was a sort of chorus, in general; and affected to be convulsed with mirth
at the comic parts, and to be overcome with fear when there was any passage of
an alarming character in the narrative. This rather put me out, very often. It
was a great jest of his, I recollect, to pretend that he couldn't keep his
teeth from chattering, whenever mention was made of an Alguazill in connexion
with the adventures of Gil Blas; and I remember that when Gil Blas met the
captain of the robbers in Madrid, this unlucky joker counterfeited such an ague
of terror, that he was overheard by Mr. Creakle, who was prowling about the
passage, and handsomely flogged for disorderly conduct in the bedroom. Whatever
I had within me that was romantic and dreamy, was encouraged by so much
story-telling in the dark; and in that respect the pursuit may not have been
very profitable to me. But the being cherished as a kind of plaything in my
room, and the consciousness that this accomplishment of mine was bruited about
among the boys, and attracted a good deal of notice to me though I was the
youngest there, stimulated me to exertion. In a school carried on by sheer
cruelty, whether it is presided over by a dunce or not, there is not likely to
be much learnt. I believe our boys were, generally, as ignorant a set as any
schoolboys in existence; they were too much troubled and knocked about to
learn; they could no more do that to advantage, than any one can do anything to
advantage in a life of constant misfortune, torment, and worry. But my little
vanity, and Steerforth's help, urged me on somehow; and without saving me from
much, if anything, in the way of punishment, made me, for the time I was there,
an exception to the general body, insomuch that I did steadily pick up some
crumbs of knowledge.
In this I
was much assisted by Mr. Mell, who had a liking for me that I am grateful to
remember. It always gave me pain to observe that Steerforth treated him with
systematic disparagement, and seldom lost an occasion of wounding his feelings,
or inducing others to do so. This troubled me the more for a long time, because
I had soon told Steerforth, from whom I could no more keep such a secret, than
I could keep a cake or any other tangible possession, about the two old women
Mr. Mell had taken me to see; and I was always afraid that Steerforth would let
it out, and twit him with it.
We little
thought, any one of us, I dare say, when I ate my breakfast that first morning,
and went to sleep under the shadow of the peacock's feathers to the sound of
the flute, what consequences would come of the introduction into those
alms-houses of my insignificant person. But the visit had its unforeseen
consequences; and of a serious sort, too, in their way.
One day
when Mr. Creakle kept the house from indisposition, which naturally diffused a
lively joy through the school, there was a good deal of noise in the course of
the morning's work. The great relief and satisfaction experienced by the boys
made them difficult to manage; and though the dreaded Tungay brought his wooden
leg in twice or thrice, and took notes of the principal offenders' names, no great
impression was made by it, as they were pretty sure of getting into trouble
tomorrow, do what they would, and thought it wise, no doubt, to enjoy
themselves today.
It was,
properly, a half-holiday; being Saturday. But as the noise in the playground
would have disturbed Mr. Creakle, and the weather was not favourable for going
out walking, we were ordered into school in the afternoon, and set some lighter
tasks than usual, which were made for the occasion. It was the day of the week
on which Mr. Sharp went out to get his wig curled; so Mr. Mell, who always did
the drudgery, whatever it was, kept school by himself. If I could associate the
idea of a bull or a bear with anyone so mild as Mr. Mell, I should think of
him, in connexion with that afternoon when the uproar was at its height, as of
one of those animals, baited by a thousand dogs. I recall him bending his
aching head, supported on his bony hand, over the book on his desk, and
wretchedly endeavouring to get on with his tiresome work, amidst an uproar that
might have made the Speaker of the House of Commons giddy. Boys started in and
out of their places, playing at puss in the corner with other boys; there were
laughing boys, singing boys, talking boys, dancing boys, howling boys; boys
shuffled with their feet, boys whirled about him, grinning, making faces,
mimicking him behind his back and before his eyes; mimicking his poverty, his
boots, his coat, his mother, everything belonging to him that they should have
had consideration for.
'Silence!'
cried Mr. Mell, suddenly rising up, and striking his desk with the book. 'What
does this mean! It's impossible to bear it. It's maddening. How can you do it
to me, boys?'
It was my
book that he struck his desk with; and as I stood beside him, following his eye
as it glanced round the room, I saw the boys all stop, some suddenly surprised,
some half afraid, and some sorry perhaps.
Steerforth's
place was at the bottom of the school, at the opposite end of the long room. He
was lounging with his back against the wall, and his hands in his pockets, and
looked at Mr. Mell with his mouth shut up as if he were whistling, when Mr.
Mell looked at him.
'Silence,
Mr. Steerforth!' said Mr. Mell.
'Silence
yourself,' said Steerforth, turning red. 'Whom are you talking to?'
'Sit
down,' said Mr. Mell.
'Sit down
yourself,' said Steerforth, 'and mind your business.'
There was
a titter, and some applause; but Mr. Mell was so white, that silence
immediately succeeded; and one boy, who had darted out behind him to imitate
his mother again, changed his mind, and pretended to want a pen mended.
'If you
think, Steerforth,' said Mr. Mell, 'that I am not acquainted with the power you
can establish over any mind here'—he laid his hand, without considering what he
did (as I supposed), upon my head—'or that I have not observed you, within a
few minutes, urging your juniors on to every sort of outrage against me, you
are mistaken.'
'I don't
give myself the trouble of thinking at all about you,' said Steerforth, coolly;
'so I'm not mistaken, as it happens.'
'And when
you make use of your position of favouritism here, sir,' pursued Mr. Mell, with
his lip trembling very much, 'to insult a gentleman—'
'A
what?—where is he?' said Steerforth.
Here
somebody cried out, 'Shame, J. Steerforth! Too bad!' It was Traddles; whom Mr.
Mell instantly discomfited by bidding him hold his tongue. —'To insult one who
is not fortunate in life, sir, and who never gave you the least offence, and
the many reasons for not insulting whom you are old enough and wise enough to
understand,' said Mr. Mell, with his lips trembling more and more, 'you commit
a mean and base action. You can sit down or stand up as you please, sir.
Copperfield, go on.'
'Young
Copperfield,' said Steerforth, coming forward up the room, 'stop a bit. I tell
you what, Mr. Mell, once for all. When you take the liberty of calling me mean
or base, or anything of that sort, you are an impudent beggar. You are always a
beggar, you know; but when you do that, you are an impudent beggar.'
I am not
clear whether he was going to strike Mr. Mell, or Mr. Mell was going to strike
him, or there was any such intention on either side. I saw a rigidity come upon
the whole school as if they had been turned into stone, and found Mr. Creakle
in the midst of us, with Tungay at his side, and Mrs. and Miss Creakle looking
in at the door as if they were frightened. Mr. Mell, with his elbows on his
desk and his face in his hands, sat, for some moments, quite still.
'Mr.
Mell,' said Mr. Creakle, shaking him by the arm; and his whisper was so audible
now, that Tungay felt it unnecessary to repeat his words; 'you have not
forgotten yourself, I hope?'
'No, sir,
no,' returned the Master, showing his face, and shaking his head, and rubbing
his hands in great agitation. 'No, sir. No. I have remembered myself, I—no, Mr.
Creakle, I have not forgotten myself, I—I have remembered myself, sir.
I—I—could wish you had remembered me a little sooner, Mr. Creakle. It—it—would
have been more kind, sir, more just, sir. It would have saved me something,
sir.'
Mr.
Creakle, looking hard at Mr. Mell, put his hand on Tungay's shoulder, and got
his feet upon the form close by, and sat upon the desk. After still looking
hard at Mr. Mell from his throne, as he shook his head, and rubbed his hands,
and remained in the same state of agitation, Mr. Creakle turned to Steerforth,
and said:
'Now,
sir, as he don't condescend to tell me, what is this?'
Steerforth
evaded the question for a little while; looking in scorn and anger on his
opponent, and remaining silent. I could not help thinking even in that
interval, I remember, what a noble fellow he was in appearance, and how homely
and plain Mr. Mell looked opposed to him.
'What did
he mean by talking about favourites, then?' said Steerforth at length.
'Favourites?'
repeated Mr. Creakle, with the veins in his forehead swelling quickly. 'Who talked
about favourites?'
'He did,'
said Steerforth.
'And
pray, what did you mean by that, sir?' demanded Mr. Creakle, turning angrily on
his assistant.
'I meant,
Mr. Creakle,' he returned in a low voice, 'as I said; that no pupil had a right
to avail himself of his position of favouritism to degrade me.'
'To
degrade YOU?' said Mr. Creakle. 'My stars! But give me leave to ask you, Mr.
What's-your-name'; and here Mr. Creakle folded his arms, cane and all, upon his
chest, and made such a knot of his brows that his little eyes were hardly
visible below them; 'whether, when you talk about favourites, you showed proper
respect to me? To me, sir,' said Mr. Creakle, darting his head at him suddenly,
and drawing it back again, 'the principal of this establishment, and your
employer.'
'It was
not judicious, sir, I am willing to admit,' said Mr. Mell. 'I should not have
done so, if I had been cool.'
Here
Steerforth struck in.
'Then he
said I was mean, and then he said I was base, and then I called him a beggar.
If I had been cool, perhaps I shouldn't have called him a beggar. But I did,
and I am ready to take the consequences of it.'
Without
considering, perhaps, whether there were any consequences to be taken, I felt
quite in a glow at this gallant speech. It made an impression on the boys too,
for there was a low stir among them, though no one spoke a word.
'I am
surprised, Steerforth—although your candour does you honour,' said Mr. Creakle,
'does you honour, certainly—I am surprised, Steerforth, I must say, that you
should attach such an epithet to any person employed and paid in Salem House,
sir.'
Steerforth
gave a short laugh.
'That's
not an answer, sir,' said Mr. Creakle, 'to my remark. I expect more than that
from you, Steerforth.'
If Mr.
Mell looked homely, in my eyes, before the handsome boy, it would be quite
impossible to say how homely Mr. Creakle looked. 'Let him deny it,' said
Steerforth.
'Deny
that he is a beggar, Steerforth?' cried Mr. Creakle. 'Why, where does he go
a-begging?'
'If he is
not a beggar himself, his near relation's one,' said Steerforth. 'It's all the
same.'
He
glanced at me, and Mr. Mell's hand gently patted me upon the shoulder. I looked
up with a flush upon my face and remorse in my heart, but Mr. Mell's eyes were
fixed on Steerforth. He continued to pat me kindly on the shoulder, but he
looked at him.
'Since
you expect me, Mr. Creakle, to justify myself,' said Steerforth, 'and to say
what I mean,—what I have to say is, that his mother lives on charity in an
alms-house.'
Mr. Mell
still looked at him, and still patted me kindly on the shoulder, and said to
himself, in a whisper, if I heard right: 'Yes, I thought so.'
Mr.
Creakle turned to his assistant, with a severe frown and laboured politeness:
'Now, you
hear what this gentleman says, Mr. Mell. Have the goodness, if you please, to
set him right before the assembled school.'
'He is
right, sir, without correction,' returned Mr. Mell, in the midst of a dead
silence; 'what he has said is true.'
'Be so
good then as declare publicly, will you,' said Mr. Creakle, putting his head on
one side, and rolling his eyes round the school, 'whether it ever came to my
knowledge until this moment?'
'I
believe not directly,' he returned.
'Why, you
know not,' said Mr. Creakle. 'Don't you, man?'
'I
apprehend you never supposed my worldly circumstances to be very good,' replied
the assistant. 'You know what my position is, and always has been, here.'
'I
apprehend, if you come to that,' said Mr. Creakle, with his veins swelling
again bigger than ever, 'that you've been in a wrong position altogether, and
mistook this for a charity school. Mr. Mell, we'll part, if you please. The
sooner the better.'
'There is
no time,' answered Mr. Mell, rising, 'like the present.'
'Sir, to
you!' said Mr. Creakle.
'I take
my leave of you, Mr. Creakle, and all of you,' said Mr. Mell, glancing round
the room, and again patting me gently on the shoulders. 'James Steerforth, the
best wish I can leave you is that you may come to be ashamed of what you have
done today. At present I would prefer to see you anything rather than a friend,
to me, or to anyone in whom I feel an interest.'
Once more
he laid his hand upon my shoulder; and then taking his flute and a few books
from his desk, and leaving the key in it for his successor, he went out of the
school, with his property under his arm. Mr. Creakle then made a speech,
through Tungay, in which he thanked Steerforth for asserting (though perhaps
too warmly) the independence and respectability of Salem House; and which he
wound up by shaking hands with Steerforth, while we gave three cheers—I did not
quite know what for, but I supposed for Steerforth, and so joined in them
ardently, though I felt miserable. Mr. Creakle then caned Tommy Traddles for
being discovered in tears, instead of cheers, on account of Mr. Mell's
departure; and went back to his sofa, or his bed, or wherever he had come from.
We were
left to ourselves now, and looked very blank, I recollect, on one another. For
myself, I felt so much self-reproach and contrition for my part in what had
happened, that nothing would have enabled me to keep back my tears but the fear
that Steerforth, who often looked at me, I saw, might think it unfriendly—or, I
should rather say, considering our relative ages, and the feeling with which I
regarded him, undutiful—if I showed the emotion which distressed me. He was
very angry with Traddles, and said he was glad he had caught it.
Poor
Traddles, who had passed the stage of lying with his head upon the desk, and
was relieving himself as usual with a burst of skeletons, said he didn't care.
Mr. Mell was ill-used.
'Who has
ill-used him, you girl?' said Steerforth.
'Why, you
have,' returned Traddles.
'What
have I done?' said Steerforth.
'What
have you done?' retorted Traddles. 'Hurt his feelings, and lost him his
situation.'
'His
feelings?' repeated Steerforth disdainfully. 'His feelings will soon get the
better of it, I'll be bound. His feelings are not like yours, Miss Traddles. As
to his situation—which was a precious one, wasn't it?—do you suppose I am not
going to write home, and take care that he gets some money? Polly?'
We thought
this intention very noble in Steerforth, whose mother was a widow, and rich,
and would do almost anything, it was said, that he asked her. We were all
extremely glad to see Traddles so put down, and exalted Steerforth to the
skies: especially when he told us, as he condescended to do, that what he had
done had been done expressly for us, and for our cause; and that he had
conferred a great boon upon us by unselfishly doing it. But I must say that
when I was going on with a story in the dark that night, Mr. Mell's old flute
seemed more than once to sound mournfully in my ears; and that when at last
Steerforth was tired, and I lay down in my bed, I fancied it playing so
sorrowfully somewhere, that I was quite wretched.
I soon
forgot him in the contemplation of Steerforth, who, in an easy amateur way, and
without any book (he seemed to me to know everything by heart), took some of
his classes until a new master was found. The new master came from a grammar
school; and before he entered on his duties, dined in the parlour one day, to
be introduced to Steerforth. Steerforth approved of him highly, and told us he
was a Brick. Without exactly understanding what learned distinction was meant
by this, I respected him greatly for it, and had no doubt whatever of his
superior knowledge: though he never took the pains with me—not that I was
anybody—that Mr. Mell had taken.
There was
only one other event in this half-year, out of the daily school-life, that made
an impression upon me which still survives. It survives for many reasons.
One
afternoon, when we were all harassed into a state of dire confusion, and Mr.
Creakle was laying about him dreadfully, Tungay came in, and called out in his
usual strong way: 'Visitors for Copperfield!'
A few
words were interchanged between him and Mr. Creakle, as, who the visitors were,
and what room they were to be shown into; and then I, who had, according to
custom, stood up on the announcement being made, and felt quite faint with
astonishment, was told to go by the back stairs and get a clean frill on,
before I repaired to the dining-room. These orders I obeyed, in such a flutter
and hurry of my young spirits as I had never known before; and when I got to
the parlour door, and the thought came into my head that it might be my mother—I
had only thought of Mr. or Miss Murdstone until then—I drew back my hand from
the lock, and stopped to have a sob before I went in.
At first
I saw nobody; but feeling a pressure against the door, I looked round it, and
there, to my amazement, were Mr. Peggotty and Ham, ducking at me with their
hats, and squeezing one another against the wall. I could not help laughing;
but it was much more in the pleasure of seeing them, than at the appearance
they made. We shook hands in a very cordial way; and I laughed and laughed,
until I pulled out my pocket-handkerchief and wiped my eyes.
Mr.
Peggotty (who never shut his mouth once, I remember, during the visit) showed
great concern when he saw me do this, and nudged Ham to say something.
'Cheer
up, Mas'r Davy bor'!' said Ham, in his simpering way. 'Why, how you have
growed!'
'Am I
grown?' I said, drying my eyes. I was not crying at anything in particular that
I know of; but somehow it made me cry, to see old friends.
'Growed,
Mas'r Davy bor'? Ain't he growed!' said Ham.
'Ain't he
growed!' said Mr. Peggotty.
They made
me laugh again by laughing at each other, and then we all three laughed until I
was in danger of crying again.
'Do you
know how mama is, Mr. Peggotty?' I said. 'And how my dear, dear, old Peggotty
is?'
'Oncommon,'
said Mr. Peggotty.
'And
little Em'ly, and Mrs. Gummidge?'
'On—common,'
said Mr. Peggotty.
There was
a silence. Mr. Peggotty, to relieve it, took two prodigious lobsters, and an
enormous crab, and a large canvas bag of shrimps, out of his pockets, and piled
them up in Ham's arms.
'You
see,' said Mr. Peggotty, 'knowing as you was partial to a little relish with
your wittles when you was along with us, we took the liberty. The old Mawther
biled 'em, she did. Mrs. Gummidge biled 'em. Yes,' said Mr. Peggotty, slowly,
who I thought appeared to stick to the subject on account of having no other
subject ready, 'Mrs. Gummidge, I do assure you, she biled 'em.'
I
expressed my thanks; and Mr. Peggotty, after looking at Ham, who stood smiling
sheepishly over the shellfish, without making any attempt to help him, said:
'We come,
you see, the wind and tide making in our favour, in one of our Yarmouth lugs to
Gravesen'. My sister she wrote to me the name of this here place, and wrote to
me as if ever I chanced to come to Gravesen', I was to come over and inquire
for Mas'r Davy and give her dooty, humbly wishing him well and reporting of the
fam'ly as they was oncommon toe-be-sure. Little Em'ly, you see, she'll write to
my sister when I go back, as I see you and as you was similarly oncommon, and
so we make it quite a merry-go-rounder.'
I was
obliged to consider a little before I understood what Mr. Peggotty meant by
this figure, expressive of a complete circle of intelligence. I then thanked
him heartily; and said, with a consciousness of reddening, that I supposed
little Em'ly was altered too, since we used to pick up shells and pebbles on
the beach?
'She's
getting to be a woman, that's wot she's getting to be,' said Mr. Peggotty. 'Ask
HIM.' He meant Ham, who beamed with delight and assent over the bag of shrimps.
'Her
pretty face!' said Mr. Peggotty, with his own shining like a light.
'Her
learning!' said Ham.
'Her
writing!' said Mr. Peggotty. 'Why it's as black as jet! And so large it is, you
might see it anywheres.'
It was
perfectly delightful to behold with what enthusiasm Mr. Peggotty became
inspired when he thought of his little favourite. He stands before me again,
his bluff hairy face irradiating with a joyful love and pride, for which I can
find no description. His honest eyes fire up, and sparkle, as if their depths
were stirred by something bright. His broad chest heaves with pleasure. His
strong loose hands clench themselves, in his earnestness; and he emphasizes
what he says with a right arm that shows, in my pigmy view, like a
sledge-hammer.
Ham was
quite as earnest as he. I dare say they would have said much more about her, if
they had not been abashed by the unexpected coming in of Steerforth, who,
seeing me in a corner speaking with two strangers, stopped in a song he was
singing, and said: 'I didn't know you were here, young Copperfield!' (for it
was not the usual visiting room) and crossed by us on his way out.
I am not
sure whether it was in the pride of having such a friend as Steerforth, or in
the desire to explain to him how I came to have such a friend as Mr. Peggotty,
that I called to him as he was going away. But I said, modestly—Good Heaven,
how it all comes back to me this long time afterwards—!
'Don't
go, Steerforth, if you please. These are two Yarmouth boatmen—very kind, good
people—who are relations of my nurse, and have come from Gravesend to see me.'
'Aye,
aye?' said Steerforth, returning. 'I am glad to see them. How are you both?'
There was
an ease in his manner—a gay and light manner it was, but not swaggering—which I
still believe to have borne a kind of enchantment with it. I still believe him,
in virtue of this carriage, his animal spirits, his delightful voice, his
handsome face and figure, and, for aught I know, of some inborn power of
attraction besides (which I think a few people possess), to have carried a
spell with him to which it was a natural weakness to yield, and which not many
persons could withstand. I could not but see how pleased they were with him,
and how they seemed to open their hearts to him in a moment.
'You must
let them know at home, if you please, Mr. Peggotty,' I said, 'when that letter
is sent, that Mr. Steerforth is very kind to me, and that I don't know what I
should ever do here without him.'
'Nonsense!'
said Steerforth, laughing. 'You mustn't tell them anything of the sort.'
'And if
Mr. Steerforth ever comes into Norfolk or Suffolk, Mr. Peggotty,' I said,
'while I am there, you may depend upon it I shall bring him to Yarmouth, if he
will let me, to see your house. You never saw such a good house, Steerforth.
It's made out of a boat!'
'Made out
of a boat, is it?' said Steerforth. 'It's the right sort of a house for such a
thorough-built boatman.'
'So 'tis,
sir, so 'tis, sir,' said Ham, grinning. 'You're right, young gen'l'm'n! Mas'r
Davy bor', gen'l'm'n's right. A thorough-built boatman! Hor, hor! That's what
he is, too!'
Mr.
Peggotty was no less pleased than his nephew, though his modesty forbade him to
claim a personal compliment so vociferously.
'Well,
sir,' he said, bowing and chuckling, and tucking in the ends of his neckerchief
at his breast: 'I thankee, sir, I thankee! I do my endeavours in my line of
life, sir.'
'The best
of men can do no more, Mr. Peggotty,' said Steerforth. He had got his name
already.
'I'll
pound it, it's wot you do yourself, sir,' said Mr. Peggotty, shaking his head,
'and wot you do well—right well! I thankee, sir. I'm obleeged to you, sir, for
your welcoming manner of me. I'm rough, sir, but I'm ready—least ways, I hope
I'm ready, you unnerstand. My house ain't much for to see, sir, but it's hearty
at your service if ever you should come along with Mas'r Davy to see it. I'm a
reg'lar Dodman, I am,' said Mr. Peggotty, by which he meant snail, and this was
in allusion to his being slow to go, for he had attempted to go after every
sentence, and had somehow or other come back again; 'but I wish you both well,
and I wish you happy!'
Ham
echoed this sentiment, and we parted with them in the heartiest manner. I was
almost tempted that evening to tell Steerforth about pretty little Em'ly, but I
was too timid of mentioning her name, and too much afraid of his laughing at
me. I remember that I thought a good deal, and in an uneasy sort of way, about
Mr. Peggotty having said that she was getting on to be a woman; but I decided
that was nonsense.
We
transported the shellfish, or the 'relish' as Mr. Peggotty had modestly called
it, up into our room unobserved, and made a great supper that evening. But
Traddles couldn't get happily out of it. He was too unfortunate even to come
through a supper like anybody else. He was taken ill in the night—quite
prostrate he was—in consequence of Crab; and after being drugged with black
draughts and blue pills, to an extent which Demple (whose father was a doctor)
said was enough to undermine a horse's constitution, received a caning and six
chapters of Greek Testament for refusing to confess.
The rest
of the half-year is a jumble in my recollection of the daily strife and
struggle of our lives; of the waning summer and the changing season; of the
frosty mornings when we were rung out of bed, and the cold, cold smell of the
dark nights when we were rung into bed again; of the evening schoolroom dimly
lighted and indifferently warmed, and the morning schoolroom which was nothing
but a great shivering-machine; of the alternation of boiled beef with roast
beef, and boiled mutton with roast mutton; of clods of bread-and-butter,
dog's-eared lesson-books, cracked slates, tear-blotted copy-books, canings,
rulerings, hair-cuttings, rainy Sundays, suet-puddings, and a dirty atmosphere
of ink, surrounding all.
I well
remember though, how the distant idea of the holidays, after seeming for an
immense time to be a stationary speck, began to come towards us, and to grow
and grow. How from counting months, we came to weeks, and then to days; and how
I then began to be afraid that I should not be sent for and when I learnt from
Steerforth that I had been sent for, and was certainly to go home, had dim
forebodings that I might break my leg first. How the breaking-up day changed
its place fast, at last, from the week after next to next week, this week, the
day after tomorrow, tomorrow, today, tonight—when I was inside the Yarmouth
mail, and going home.
I had
many a broken sleep inside the Yarmouth mail, and many an incoherent dream of
all these things. But when I awoke at intervals, the ground outside the window
was not the playground of Salem House, and the sound in my ears was not the
sound of Mr. Creakle giving it to Traddles, but the sound of the coachman touching
up the horses.
To be continued
