By the time I had returned, Joe had completed bandaging my sister and put her to bed, where she lay very ill. Her sight was disturbed, having been clawed across the face; her hearing was greatly impaired; her memory also; and her speech was unintelligible. When, at last, she came round so far as to be helped down-stairs, it was still necessary to keep a slate always by her, that she might indicate in writing what she could not indicate in speech.
However, her temper was greatly improved, and she was patient. A tremulous uncertainty of the action of all her limbs soon became a part of her regular state. We were at a loss to find a suitable attendant for her, until a circumstance happened conveniently to relieve us. Not two weeks after the attack, Mr. Wopsle's great-aunt conquered a confirmed habit of living into which she had fallen, and Biddy became a part of our establishment.
Biddy's first triumph was to solve a difficulty that had completely vanquished me. I had tried hard at it, but had made nothing of it. Thus it was:
Again and again and again, my sister had traced upon the slate, a character that looked like a curious T, and then with the utmost eagerness had called our attention to it as something she particularly wanted. I had in vain tried everything producible that began with a T, from tar to toast and tub. At length it had come into my head that the sign looked like a hammer, and on my lustily calling that word in my sister's ear, she had begun to hammer on the table and had expressed a qualified assent. Thereupon, I had brought in all our hammers, one after another, but without avail.
When my sister found that Biddy was very quick to understand her, this mysterious sign reappeared on the slate. Biddy looked thoughtfully at it, heard my explanation, looked thoughtfully at my sister, looked thoughtfully at Joe (who was always represented on the slate by his initial letter), and ran into the forge, followed by Joe and me.
"Why, of course!" cried Biddy, with an exultant face. "Don't you see? It's him!"
Orlick, without a doubt! She had lost his name, and could only signify him by his hammer. We told him why we wanted him to come into the kitchen, and he slowly laid down his hammer, wiped his brow with his arm, took another wipe at it with his apron, and came slouching out, with a curious loose vagabond bend in the knees that strongly distinguished him.
I confess that I expected to see my sister denounce him, and that I was disappointed by the different result. She manifested the greatest anxiety to be on good terms with him, was evidently much pleased by his being at length produced, and motioned that she would have him given something to drink. She watched his countenance as if she were particularly wishful to be assured that he took kindly to his reception, she showed every possible desire to conciliate him, and there was an air of humble propitiation in all she did, such as I have seen pervade the bearing of a child towards a hard master. After that day, a day rarely passed without her drawing the hammer on her slate, and without Orlick's slouching in and standing doggedly before her, as if he knew no more than I did what to make of it.
Chapter 16, Part 1
Joe had spent a sleepless night across town assisting a gang of Brutal Hunters. They had kept their weapons in poor repair, and had required Joe’s services throughout the entire Hunt. When Joe returned home the next morning at five minutes before seven, he found Mrs. Joe on the floor, and promptly called in assistance. As modesty dictated, the surgeon asked that Joe inspect the body of his wife for bite marks.
Had she been bitten and survived, the Howl Beast’s curse would have spread to her. It was, long ago, mandated that those who were bitten could not simply be executed, for they had yet committed no crime. Yet, since the public called for protection, those pitiable souls were carried away to the Hulks. They spent the remainder of their lives aboard those great floating cages, and once each month, the full moon transformed these innocents into the monsters that made them. Still, as I had learned at such a young age, they did not always remain bound, and sometimes escaped to terrorize the country.
As it happened, Joe reported no fang marks on Mrs. Joe. Her injuries were great indeed, but it seemed she had escaped the dreadful prospect of a cursed life. Seeing as this revelation extinguished any interest the community may have had in Mrs. Joe’s condition, and as Joe had not the money to pay the surgeon’s fees, the surgeon and onlookers were politely shuffled out. Joe tended to my sister’s wounds as best he could, while I commenced to put house into order.
It was not long before we heard the familiar clank outside our door. Two Brutal Hunters had appeared to interrogate us regarding the attack. Such “detective” work was the other facet of the Hunters’ trade. No one, to my knowledge, had ever requested that they adopt this role, and it seemed to come about as a result of their boredom alone, for their Hunts could only be carried out one night a month. They did not appear to regard highly the deductive aspect of this investigating, but did relish openly harassing townspeople and accusing them of being Howl Beasts.
Accordingly, there was a good deal of shoving, prodding, and finger-pointing; I suspect there would have been a great deal more had Joe not been present. At first it was not even clear why they were questioning me.
“You look like you’s got plenny ‘xperience with Howlers, boy. Too much.”
“And what could you mean by that?” I stammered.
“Mister Orlick says you’s gone all last night. You best tell us where you was.”
Mister! I almost laughed - that despicable rake! “I spent the evening up-town,” said I, “And why don’t you question Mister Orlick on his whereabouts as well?”
“Blaming the accuser,” one of them sneered, “oldest trick I seen. Well, just so’s you know, Mr. Orlick spent the night at the Jolly Hunter. Barkeep says he was there past closing and got hisself a room. An’ we know Joe here was ‘elping with the Hunt. Only one we don’t know about’s you.”
I could see that the matter would not be settled until my alibi received verification. So, the Hunters marched me through the town to Pumblechook’s, where I had the displeasure of having to ask for that imbecile’s saving grace a second time. How he enjoyed tormenting me:
“How should I know if the boy was here all of last night?” he asked with mock concern. “Did he appear at my door like a beggar? Yes. Did I grant him lodging out of the kindness of my heart? Yes again. And was he here in the morning? I seem to recall that it was so.”
One of Hunters scratched his oversized head and began to plod through a sentence: “But what if,” he said as if struggling to solve puzzle with but one piece, “he done snucked out at night, turned Howler, an’ then he come back.”
“Absurd!” I exclaimed and shot Pumblechook a hot look.
“Hm. An interesting theory Master Hunter,” said Pumblechook with a wide grin. I feared he would persist with this game, but thankfully he had enough anguish from me to repay his previous generosity, so he slapped me on the back, and told the Hunters that I had in fact been at his home the entire night, as evidenced by my possibly drunken snoring. As the word of an honorable corn-chandler was worth more than that of a blacksmith’s apprentice, the two Hunters let me go, with but a stiff grunt for my trouble.
Had she been bitten and survived, the Howl Beast’s curse would have spread to her. It was, long ago, mandated that those who were bitten could not simply be executed, for they had yet committed no crime. Yet, since the public called for protection, those pitiable souls were carried away to the Hulks. They spent the remainder of their lives aboard those great floating cages, and once each month, the full moon transformed these innocents into the monsters that made them. Still, as I had learned at such a young age, they did not always remain bound, and sometimes escaped to terrorize the country.
As it happened, Joe reported no fang marks on Mrs. Joe. Her injuries were great indeed, but it seemed she had escaped the dreadful prospect of a cursed life. Seeing as this revelation extinguished any interest the community may have had in Mrs. Joe’s condition, and as Joe had not the money to pay the surgeon’s fees, the surgeon and onlookers were politely shuffled out. Joe tended to my sister’s wounds as best he could, while I commenced to put house into order.
It was not long before we heard the familiar clank outside our door. Two Brutal Hunters had appeared to interrogate us regarding the attack. Such “detective” work was the other facet of the Hunters’ trade. No one, to my knowledge, had ever requested that they adopt this role, and it seemed to come about as a result of their boredom alone, for their Hunts could only be carried out one night a month. They did not appear to regard highly the deductive aspect of this investigating, but did relish openly harassing townspeople and accusing them of being Howl Beasts.
Accordingly, there was a good deal of shoving, prodding, and finger-pointing; I suspect there would have been a great deal more had Joe not been present. At first it was not even clear why they were questioning me.
“You look like you’s got plenny ‘xperience with Howlers, boy. Too much.”
“And what could you mean by that?” I stammered.
“Mister Orlick says you’s gone all last night. You best tell us where you was.”
Mister! I almost laughed - that despicable rake! “I spent the evening up-town,” said I, “And why don’t you question Mister Orlick on his whereabouts as well?”
“Blaming the accuser,” one of them sneered, “oldest trick I seen. Well, just so’s you know, Mr. Orlick spent the night at the Jolly Hunter. Barkeep says he was there past closing and got hisself a room. An’ we know Joe here was ‘elping with the Hunt. Only one we don’t know about’s you.”
I could see that the matter would not be settled until my alibi received verification. So, the Hunters marched me through the town to Pumblechook’s, where I had the displeasure of having to ask for that imbecile’s saving grace a second time. How he enjoyed tormenting me:
“How should I know if the boy was here all of last night?” he asked with mock concern. “Did he appear at my door like a beggar? Yes. Did I grant him lodging out of the kindness of my heart? Yes again. And was he here in the morning? I seem to recall that it was so.”
One of Hunters scratched his oversized head and began to plod through a sentence: “But what if,” he said as if struggling to solve puzzle with but one piece, “he done snucked out at night, turned Howler, an’ then he come back.”
“Absurd!” I exclaimed and shot Pumblechook a hot look.
“Hm. An interesting theory Master Hunter,” said Pumblechook with a wide grin. I feared he would persist with this game, but thankfully he had enough anguish from me to repay his previous generosity, so he slapped me on the back, and told the Hunters that I had in fact been at his home the entire night, as evidenced by my possibly drunken snoring. As the word of an honorable corn-chandler was worth more than that of a blacksmith’s apprentice, the two Hunters let me go, with but a stiff grunt for my trouble.
Chapter 15, Part 4
It was a very dark night, and when it was all over, I set out for home and the forge. Doubtless Mrs. Joe would accuse me of putting her through unspeakable anguish for my carelessness. Beyond town, I found a heavy mist out, and it fell wet and thick. The turnpike lamp was a blur, quite out of the lamp's usual place apparently, and its rays looked solid substance on the fog. I was noticing this, and thinking how the mist rose with a change of wind from a certain quarter of our marshes, when I came upon a man, slouching under the lee of the turnpike house.
"Halloa!" I said, stopping. "Orlick, there?"
"Ah!" he answered, slouching out. "I was standing by, a minute, on the chance of company."
"You are late," I remarked.
Orlick not unnaturally answered, "Well? And you're late."
"I had," I paused and selected my next words carefully, "I had indulged, Mr. Orlick, in an intellectual evening up-town."
Old Orlick growled, as if he had nothing to say about that, and we went on together. I asked him presently whether he had been spent his half-holiday up and down town?
"Yes," said he, "all of it. I come in behind yourself. I didn't see you, but I must have been pretty close behind you. By-the-bye, the guns gone again last night."
"At the Hulks?" said I.
"Ay! Some of the birds flown from the cages."
The subject was a suggestive one to me, and I thought about it in silence. Orlick, with his hands in his pockets, slouched heavily at my side. It was still a very grey, very wet, very muddy, and so we splashed along.
Thus, we came to the village, which I was surprised to find - it being only 9 o'clock - in a state of commotion. Presently, I saw Mr. Wopsle running straight toward me.
"There's something wrong," said he, without stopping, "up at your place, Pip. Run all!"
"What is it?" I asked, keeping up with him. So did Orlick, at my side.
"I can't quite understand. The house seems to have been violently entered when Joe Gargery was out. Supposed by Howlers. Somebody has been attacked and hurt."
We were running too fast to admit of more being said, and we made no stop until we got into our kitchen. It was full of people; the whole village was there, or in the yard; and there was a surgeon, and there was Joe, and there was a group of women, all on the floor in the midst of the kitchen. The unemployed bystanders drew back when they saw me, and so I became aware of my sister - lying against the wall without sense or movement in puddle of drying blood.
She had been slashed all over her body, and one could scarcely find any portion of her that did not bear some mark of the attack. It had further appeared from the stain above her that she had been hurled into the walled and sustained a tremendous blow on the back of the head - destined never to be on the Ram-page again, while she was the wife of Joe.
"Halloa!" I said, stopping. "Orlick, there?"
"Ah!" he answered, slouching out. "I was standing by, a minute, on the chance of company."
"You are late," I remarked.
Orlick not unnaturally answered, "Well? And you're late."
"I had," I paused and selected my next words carefully, "I had indulged, Mr. Orlick, in an intellectual evening up-town."
Old Orlick growled, as if he had nothing to say about that, and we went on together. I asked him presently whether he had been spent his half-holiday up and down town?
"Yes," said he, "all of it. I come in behind yourself. I didn't see you, but I must have been pretty close behind you. By-the-bye, the guns gone again last night."
"At the Hulks?" said I.
"Ay! Some of the birds flown from the cages."
The subject was a suggestive one to me, and I thought about it in silence. Orlick, with his hands in his pockets, slouched heavily at my side. It was still a very grey, very wet, very muddy, and so we splashed along.
Thus, we came to the village, which I was surprised to find - it being only 9 o'clock - in a state of commotion. Presently, I saw Mr. Wopsle running straight toward me.
"There's something wrong," said he, without stopping, "up at your place, Pip. Run all!"
"What is it?" I asked, keeping up with him. So did Orlick, at my side.
"I can't quite understand. The house seems to have been violently entered when Joe Gargery was out. Supposed by Howlers. Somebody has been attacked and hurt."
We were running too fast to admit of more being said, and we made no stop until we got into our kitchen. It was full of people; the whole village was there, or in the yard; and there was a surgeon, and there was Joe, and there was a group of women, all on the floor in the midst of the kitchen. The unemployed bystanders drew back when they saw me, and so I became aware of my sister - lying against the wall without sense or movement in puddle of drying blood.
She had been slashed all over her body, and one could scarcely find any portion of her that did not bear some mark of the attack. It had further appeared from the stain above her that she had been hurled into the walled and sustained a tremendous blow on the back of the head - destined never to be on the Ram-page again, while she was the wife of Joe.
Chapter 15, Part 3
When I came down again, I found Joe and Orlick sweeping up, without any other traces of discomposure than a slit in one of Orlick's nostrils, which was neither expressive nor ornamental. A pot of beer had appeared from the Jolly Hunter, and they were sharing it by turns in a peaceable manner. The lull had a sedative and philosophical influence on Joe, who followed me out into the road to say, as a parting observation that might do me good, "On the Ram-page, Pip, and off the Ram-page, Pip - such is Life!"
With what absurd emotions (for, we think the feelings that are very serious in a man quite comical in a boy) I found myself again going to Miss Havisham's, matters little here. Nor, how I passed and repassed the gate many times before I could make up my mind to ring. Nor, how I debated whether I should go away without ringing; nor, how I should undoubtedly have gone, if my time had been my own, to come back.
A woman, whom I recognized as Miss Sarah Pocket, came to the gate. No Estella.
"How, then? You here again?" said Miss Pocket. "What do you want?"
When I said that I only came to see how Miss Havisham was, Sarah evidently deliberated whether or no she should send me about my business. But, unwilling to hazard the responsibility, she let me in, and presently brought the sharp message that I was to "come up."
Everything was unchanged, and Miss Havisham was alone.
"Well?" said she, fixing her eyes upon me. "I hope you want nothing? You'll get nothing."
"No, indeed, Miss Havisham. I only wanted you to know that I am doing very well in my apprenticeship, and am always much obliged to you."
"There, there!" with the old restless fingers. "Come now and then; come on your birthday. - Ay!" she cried suddenly, turning herself and her chair towards me, "You are looking round for Estella? Hey?"
I had been looking round - in fact, for Estella - and I stammered that I hoped she was well.
"Abroad," said Miss Havisham; "educating with the great warriors of the East; far out of reach; prettier and stronger than ever; admired by all who see her. Do you feel that you have lost her?"
There was such a malignant enjoyment in her utterance of the last words, and she broke into such a disagreeable laugh, that I was at a loss what to say. She spared me the trouble of considering, by dismissing me. When the gate was closed upon me by Sarah of the walnut-shell countenance, I felt more than ever dissatisfied with my home and with my trade and with everything; and that was all I took by that motion.
I loitered along the High-street, looking in disconsolately at the shop windows, and thinking what I would buy if I were a gentleman. In allowing my mind to abandon my commonness for that time, I also abandoned all sense of how long that time lasted. As I wandered about, I hardly noticed that most of the shops had begun to close and the streets had begun to empty. After what seemed to me but a moment, but in actuality had proved much longer, I came out of this fugue reverie to find myself alone and in darkness. My only company: a full moon.
Home was far, and the journey would take me too near to the marshes. Even far up-town, it could be dangerous to spend such a night on the streets. I knew what I had to do, and yet I considered for a moment whether it may be preferable to risk the onslaught of Howl Beasts than to do it. Begrudgingly, I chose the prudent course: I ran several blocks, swallowed what remained of my pride, and with the heaviest of sighs, knocked at Pumblechook’s door.
With what absurd emotions (for, we think the feelings that are very serious in a man quite comical in a boy) I found myself again going to Miss Havisham's, matters little here. Nor, how I passed and repassed the gate many times before I could make up my mind to ring. Nor, how I debated whether I should go away without ringing; nor, how I should undoubtedly have gone, if my time had been my own, to come back.
A woman, whom I recognized as Miss Sarah Pocket, came to the gate. No Estella.
"How, then? You here again?" said Miss Pocket. "What do you want?"
When I said that I only came to see how Miss Havisham was, Sarah evidently deliberated whether or no she should send me about my business. But, unwilling to hazard the responsibility, she let me in, and presently brought the sharp message that I was to "come up."
Everything was unchanged, and Miss Havisham was alone.
"Well?" said she, fixing her eyes upon me. "I hope you want nothing? You'll get nothing."
"No, indeed, Miss Havisham. I only wanted you to know that I am doing very well in my apprenticeship, and am always much obliged to you."
"There, there!" with the old restless fingers. "Come now and then; come on your birthday. - Ay!" she cried suddenly, turning herself and her chair towards me, "You are looking round for Estella? Hey?"
I had been looking round - in fact, for Estella - and I stammered that I hoped she was well.
"Abroad," said Miss Havisham; "educating with the great warriors of the East; far out of reach; prettier and stronger than ever; admired by all who see her. Do you feel that you have lost her?"
There was such a malignant enjoyment in her utterance of the last words, and she broke into such a disagreeable laugh, that I was at a loss what to say. She spared me the trouble of considering, by dismissing me. When the gate was closed upon me by Sarah of the walnut-shell countenance, I felt more than ever dissatisfied with my home and with my trade and with everything; and that was all I took by that motion.
I loitered along the High-street, looking in disconsolately at the shop windows, and thinking what I would buy if I were a gentleman. In allowing my mind to abandon my commonness for that time, I also abandoned all sense of how long that time lasted. As I wandered about, I hardly noticed that most of the shops had begun to close and the streets had begun to empty. After what seemed to me but a moment, but in actuality had proved much longer, I came out of this fugue reverie to find myself alone and in darkness. My only company: a full moon.
Home was far, and the journey would take me too near to the marshes. Even far up-town, it could be dangerous to spend such a night on the streets. I knew what I had to do, and yet I considered for a moment whether it may be preferable to risk the onslaught of Howl Beasts than to do it. Begrudgingly, I chose the prudent course: I ran several blocks, swallowed what remained of my pride, and with the heaviest of sighs, knocked at Pumblechook’s door.
Chapter 15, Part 2
Now, Joe kept a journeyman at weekly wages whose name was Orlick. He was a broad-shouldered loose-limbed swarthy fellow of great size and strength, never in a hurry, and always slouching. He never even seemed to come to his work on purpose, but would slouch in as if by mere accident; and when he went to the Jolly Bargemen to eat his dinner, or went away at night, he would slouch out, like Cain or the Wandering Jew, as if he had no idea where he was going and no intention of ever coming back. He always slouched, locomotively, with his eyes on the ground; and, when accosted or otherwise required to raise them, he looked up in a half resentful, half puzzled way, as though the only thought he ever had, was, that it was rather an odd and injurious fact that he should never be thinking.
This morose journeyman had no liking for me. When I was very small and timid, he gave me to understand that a Howl Beast lived behind the forge, and that he knew the fiend very well: also that it was necessary to make him a sacrifice of a live boy, once in seven years. When I became Joe's 'prentice, Orlick was perhaps confirmed in some suspicion that I should displace him; howbeit, he liked me still less. Not that he ever said anything, or did anything, openly importing hostility; I only noticed that he always beat his sparks in my direction.
Orlick was at work and present, next day, when I reminded Joe of my half-holiday. He said nothing at the moment, for he and Joe had just got a piece of hot iron between them, and I was at the bellows; but by-and-by he said, leaning on his hammer:
"Now, master! Sure you're not a-going to favor only one of us. If Young Pip has a half-holiday, do as much for Old Orlick." I suppose he looked about five-and-twenty, but he usually spoke of himself as an ancient person.
"Why, what'll you do with a half-holiday, if you get it?" said Joe.
"What'll I do with it! What'll he do with it? I'll do as much with it as him," said Orlick.
"As to Pip, he's going up-town," said Joe.
"Well then, as to Old Orlick, he's a-going up-town," retorted that worthy. "Two can go up-town. Tan't only one wot can go up-town.
"Don't lose your temper," said Joe.
"Shall if I like," growled Orlick. "Some and their up-towning! Now, master! Come. No favoring in this shop. Be a man!"
The master refusing to entertain the subject until the journeyman was in a better temper, Orlick plunged at the furnace, drew out a red-hot bar, made at me with it as if he were going to run it through my body, whisked it round my head, laid it on the anvil, hammered it out - as if it were I, I thought, and the sparks were my spurting blood - and finally said, when he had hammered himself hot and the iron cold, and he again leaned on his hammer:
"Now, master!"
"Are you all right now?" demanded Joe.
"Ah! I am all right," said gruff Old Orlick.
"Then, as in general you stick to your work as well as most men," said Joe, "let it be a half-holiday for all."
My sister had been standing silent in the yard, within hearing - she was a most unscrupulous spy and listener - and she instantly looked in at one of the windows.
"Like you, you fool!" said she to Joe, "giving holidays to great idle hulkers like that. You are a rich man, upon my life, to waste wages in that way. I wish I was his master!"
"You're a foul shrew, Mother Gargery, growled the journeyman. "If that makes a master, you ought to be a good'un."
("Let her alone, will you?" said Joe.)
"What did you say?" cried my sister, beginning to scream. "What did you say? What did that fellow Orlick say to me, Pip? What did he call me, with my husband standing by? O! O! O!" Each of these exclamations was a shriek; and I must remark of my sister, what is equally true of all the violent women I have ever seen, that passion was no excuse for her, because it is undeniable that instead of lapsing into passion, she consciously and deliberately took extraordinary pains to force herself into it, and became blindly furious by regular stages; "what was the name he gave me before the base man who swore to defend me? O! Hold me! O!"
What could the wretched Joe do now, after his disregarded parenthetical interruption, but stand up to his journeyman. So, without so much as pulling off their singed and burnt aprons, they went at one another, like two giants. But, if any man in that neighborhood could stand up long against Joe, I never saw the man. Orlick, as if he had been of no more account than the pale young gentleman, was very soon among the coal-dust, and in no hurry to come out of it. Then, came that singular calm and silence which succeed all uproars; and then, with the vague sensation which I have always connected with such a lull - namely, that it was Sunday, and somebody was dead - I went up-stairs to dress myself.
This morose journeyman had no liking for me. When I was very small and timid, he gave me to understand that a Howl Beast lived behind the forge, and that he knew the fiend very well: also that it was necessary to make him a sacrifice of a live boy, once in seven years. When I became Joe's 'prentice, Orlick was perhaps confirmed in some suspicion that I should displace him; howbeit, he liked me still less. Not that he ever said anything, or did anything, openly importing hostility; I only noticed that he always beat his sparks in my direction.
Orlick was at work and present, next day, when I reminded Joe of my half-holiday. He said nothing at the moment, for he and Joe had just got a piece of hot iron between them, and I was at the bellows; but by-and-by he said, leaning on his hammer:
"Now, master! Sure you're not a-going to favor only one of us. If Young Pip has a half-holiday, do as much for Old Orlick." I suppose he looked about five-and-twenty, but he usually spoke of himself as an ancient person.
"Why, what'll you do with a half-holiday, if you get it?" said Joe.
"What'll I do with it! What'll he do with it? I'll do as much with it as him," said Orlick.
"As to Pip, he's going up-town," said Joe.
"Well then, as to Old Orlick, he's a-going up-town," retorted that worthy. "Two can go up-town. Tan't only one wot can go up-town.
"Don't lose your temper," said Joe.
"Shall if I like," growled Orlick. "Some and their up-towning! Now, master! Come. No favoring in this shop. Be a man!"
The master refusing to entertain the subject until the journeyman was in a better temper, Orlick plunged at the furnace, drew out a red-hot bar, made at me with it as if he were going to run it through my body, whisked it round my head, laid it on the anvil, hammered it out - as if it were I, I thought, and the sparks were my spurting blood - and finally said, when he had hammered himself hot and the iron cold, and he again leaned on his hammer:
"Now, master!"
"Are you all right now?" demanded Joe.
"Ah! I am all right," said gruff Old Orlick.
"Then, as in general you stick to your work as well as most men," said Joe, "let it be a half-holiday for all."
My sister had been standing silent in the yard, within hearing - she was a most unscrupulous spy and listener - and she instantly looked in at one of the windows.
"Like you, you fool!" said she to Joe, "giving holidays to great idle hulkers like that. You are a rich man, upon my life, to waste wages in that way. I wish I was his master!"
"You're a foul shrew, Mother Gargery, growled the journeyman. "If that makes a master, you ought to be a good'un."
("Let her alone, will you?" said Joe.)
"What did you say?" cried my sister, beginning to scream. "What did you say? What did that fellow Orlick say to me, Pip? What did he call me, with my husband standing by? O! O! O!" Each of these exclamations was a shriek; and I must remark of my sister, what is equally true of all the violent women I have ever seen, that passion was no excuse for her, because it is undeniable that instead of lapsing into passion, she consciously and deliberately took extraordinary pains to force herself into it, and became blindly furious by regular stages; "what was the name he gave me before the base man who swore to defend me? O! Hold me! O!"
What could the wretched Joe do now, after his disregarded parenthetical interruption, but stand up to his journeyman. So, without so much as pulling off their singed and burnt aprons, they went at one another, like two giants. But, if any man in that neighborhood could stand up long against Joe, I never saw the man. Orlick, as if he had been of no more account than the pale young gentleman, was very soon among the coal-dust, and in no hurry to come out of it. Then, came that singular calm and silence which succeed all uproars; and then, with the vague sensation which I have always connected with such a lull - namely, that it was Sunday, and somebody was dead - I went up-stairs to dress myself.
Chapter 15, Part 1
One evening when Joe was greatly enjoying his pipe, I lay on the ground in the parlor for some time with my chin on my hand, descrying traces of Miss Havisham and Estella all over the prospect, in the sky and in the water, until at last I resolved to mention a thought concerning them that had been much in my head.
"Joe," said I; "don't you think I ought to make Miss Havisham a visit?"
"Well, Pip," returned Joe, slowly considering. "What for?"
"Here am I, getting on in the first year of my time, and, since the day of my being bound, I have never thanked Miss Havisham, or asked after her, or shown that I remember her."
"That's true, Pip; and unless you was to turn her out a set of shoes all four round - and which I meantersay as even a set of shoes all four round might not be acceptable as a present, in a total vacancy of hoofs--"
"I don't mean that sort of remembrance, Joe; I don't mean a present."
But Joe had got the idea of a present in his head and must harp upon it. "Or even," said he, "if you was helped to knocking her up a new chain for the front door - or say a gross or two of shark-headed screws for general use - or some light fancy article, such as a toasting-fork when she took her muffins - or a gridiron when she took a sprat or such like--"
"My dear Joe," I cried, in desperation, taking hold of his coat, "don't go on in that way. I never thought of making Miss Havisham any present."
"No, Pip," Joe assented, as if he had been contending for that, all along; "and what I say to you is, you are right, Pip."
"Yes, Joe; but what I wanted to say, was, that as we are rather slack just now, if you would give me a half-holiday to-morrow, I think I would go up-town and make a call on Miss Est - Havisham."
"Which her name," said Joe, gravely, "ain't Estavisham, Pip, unless she have been rechris'ened."
"I know, Joe, I know. It was a slip of mine. What do you think of it, Joe?"
In brief, Joe thought that if I thought well of it, he thought well of it. But, he was particular in stipulating that if I were not received with cordiality, or if I were not encouraged to repeat my visit as a visit which had no ulterior object but was simply one of gratitude for a favor received, then this experimental trip should have no successor. By these conditions I promised to abide.
"Joe," said I; "don't you think I ought to make Miss Havisham a visit?"
"Well, Pip," returned Joe, slowly considering. "What for?"
"Here am I, getting on in the first year of my time, and, since the day of my being bound, I have never thanked Miss Havisham, or asked after her, or shown that I remember her."
"That's true, Pip; and unless you was to turn her out a set of shoes all four round - and which I meantersay as even a set of shoes all four round might not be acceptable as a present, in a total vacancy of hoofs--"
"I don't mean that sort of remembrance, Joe; I don't mean a present."
But Joe had got the idea of a present in his head and must harp upon it. "Or even," said he, "if you was helped to knocking her up a new chain for the front door - or say a gross or two of shark-headed screws for general use - or some light fancy article, such as a toasting-fork when she took her muffins - or a gridiron when she took a sprat or such like--"
"My dear Joe," I cried, in desperation, taking hold of his coat, "don't go on in that way. I never thought of making Miss Havisham any present."
"No, Pip," Joe assented, as if he had been contending for that, all along; "and what I say to you is, you are right, Pip."
"Yes, Joe; but what I wanted to say, was, that as we are rather slack just now, if you would give me a half-holiday to-morrow, I think I would go up-town and make a call on Miss Est - Havisham."
"Which her name," said Joe, gravely, "ain't Estavisham, Pip, unless she have been rechris'ened."
"I know, Joe, I know. It was a slip of mine. What do you think of it, Joe?"
In brief, Joe thought that if I thought well of it, he thought well of it. But, he was particular in stipulating that if I were not received with cordiality, or if I were not encouraged to repeat my visit as a visit which had no ulterior object but was simply one of gratitude for a favor received, then this experimental trip should have no successor. By these conditions I promised to abide.
Chapter 14, Part 4
It was only after Joe left me to clean up that I noticed queer markings etched onto the leather sheet that had held the sword. They were miniscule, but upon close inspection with a glass, it was possible to discern drawn panels depicting a figure in various combat postures with the blade. Underneath these diagrams, indecipherable hieroglyphs taunted my intellect; this was no writing that I had ever seen.
After securing an oath of secrecy from Biddy, I related Joe’s story and showed the katana and the leather sheet to her.
“Pip,” said Biddy as she inspected the pictures, “I do believe you have found your new manual.”
We worked together to decipher the drawings on the leather, and Biddy put me through the exercises and positions depicted. The training came slowly at first. The fighting style was completely unnatural, that is to say foreign, to me. It was nothing like the clumsy hacking of the spike-sword favored by the Brutal Hunters to inflict as much damage as possible before the Howl Beast’s flesh mended itself. Nor did it bear any semblance to the elegant thrusting of the sliver rapiers utilized by the Noble Hunters, which could kill a Howl Beast by piercing its heart with one well-placed blow. The katana’s technique was its very much its own, though it would, in time, become my own as well.
I was greatly indebted to Biddy for her patience and inexplicable dedication to me, as there appeared no clear benefit from our painstaking labor. I could not hope to sell replicas of the katana, as Joe had made clear that none would have them. I could not hope to employ the sword in battle, as I was bound (Pumblechook made sure of that) to my trade as a blacksmith; I was not now, nor could ever be, a Hunter. Even if it were otherwise, the very thought of running about the marshes with a band of barbaric miscreants turned my stomach like the tar Mrs. Joe remained so fond of.
And yet, the germ of an impossible hope was growing within me – one so ludicrous and unimaginable that I could not bring myself to share it with Biddy, Joe, or any living soul, save the crickets outside my window.
After securing an oath of secrecy from Biddy, I related Joe’s story and showed the katana and the leather sheet to her.
“Pip,” said Biddy as she inspected the pictures, “I do believe you have found your new manual.”
We worked together to decipher the drawings on the leather, and Biddy put me through the exercises and positions depicted. The training came slowly at first. The fighting style was completely unnatural, that is to say foreign, to me. It was nothing like the clumsy hacking of the spike-sword favored by the Brutal Hunters to inflict as much damage as possible before the Howl Beast’s flesh mended itself. Nor did it bear any semblance to the elegant thrusting of the sliver rapiers utilized by the Noble Hunters, which could kill a Howl Beast by piercing its heart with one well-placed blow. The katana’s technique was its very much its own, though it would, in time, become my own as well.
I was greatly indebted to Biddy for her patience and inexplicable dedication to me, as there appeared no clear benefit from our painstaking labor. I could not hope to sell replicas of the katana, as Joe had made clear that none would have them. I could not hope to employ the sword in battle, as I was bound (Pumblechook made sure of that) to my trade as a blacksmith; I was not now, nor could ever be, a Hunter. Even if it were otherwise, the very thought of running about the marshes with a band of barbaric miscreants turned my stomach like the tar Mrs. Joe remained so fond of.
And yet, the germ of an impossible hope was growing within me – one so ludicrous and unimaginable that I could not bring myself to share it with Biddy, Joe, or any living soul, save the crickets outside my window.
Chapter 14, Part 3
“What was that, Joe?” I asked, but the only response I received was a blank stare, as if Joe had not heard his own mouth speak the strange word, which had forced its way out of him.
“Joe!” I persisted in a tone verging on disrespectful, to my friend and master no less– so overwhelming was my curiosity. Had that bloviating churl, Pumblechook, been present, he would have no doubt marched me before the magistrate (or worse, my sister) for such an offense.
“Sorry, Pip, old chap,” said Joe catching himself out of his daze. “Which I meantersay that ‘that,’ by which what I mean ‘this,’ is called a kat-a-na sword.”
“But wherever did you acquire it?”
“Was ages, Pip. Long before you were born, or your sister married me by hand.”
I gingerly passed the sword to him in hopes that the tactile sensation would improve his memory. He held it high, inspected the straightness of the blade, and even gauged its balance, all the while I waited in agony for him to continue.
He finally did: “It were late one ev’ning, an’ a bit too close to a full moon to my liking, so I were running to get home. So there I were along the road an’ I see an ox cart broked on the side. Now, Pip, old chap, you know how I don’t pay no mind to no one’s business, ‘xcepting of course my own, you know that right?”
I nodded.
“But I got to thinking how this poor chap got stucked out there on his ownsome, and there was a Howler’s moon coming on and all. So’s I come up and offer a hand, or in actual, two. Well, I see that his wheel was cracked awful, and there was no use rolling it. So you know what I did, Pip, I picked up one side of the axel and walked that cart all the way to the forge. Next day, I fixed it all up nice and proper.” Joe now laughed at something in his story, though I could not discern what it was.
“The owner, of the ox cart I meantersay, were a strange one, I’ll tell you that, Pip. Little, he was, with a face like a cat. Never seen a man like that before and never again. Didn’t speak much in our tongue, but he were gentle as a lamb, an’ we got on famous. Now I apol’gize, Pip old chap, for I see that I’ve gone an’ rambled; so I’ll say it out now. The man he offered me some notes for my troubles, but I’d a have none of that. Was my duty help out, you see. So he goes an’ he reaches into his ox cart an’ pulls out this here sword what we’re spying at the present. He says this word ‘kat-a-na’ over and over. Then he wraps it in this leather here and puts it in my own hands. Before I could say another word, he were on his cart and off. And that were that.”
“And you kept it all this time?” I asked.
“Well,” said Joe a bit nervously, appearing more interested in his shoes than the conversation, “times got hard and I got to want for some necess’ries, so’s I tried to sell her, that is to say it, that is to mean this kat-a-na. But, as it goes, no Hunter were too eager to buy it. Little sword like that didn’t look like it’d do much to a Howler. It’d heal up right as you cut it. Now, if it were silver, of course – ah!”
He handed the sword back to me, though I was lost in thought. How could something so beautiful and seemingly useful be worthless?
Silver. It was what separated the Noble Hunters from the Brutal. In the early days of my apprenticeship, knowing nothing of the workings of the commodities market, I mentioned to Joe the idea that we should find some silver for ourselves and forge weapons therefrom. This evoked a shrieking laugh from Mrs. Joe, who suggested that I should climb up to the moon and see if I could find any silver there.
“Ain’t nobody like us has got silver, Pip;” said Joe, “them Nobles bought it all up ages ago. Couldn’t but get a scrap if we sold this ‘ole house.”
“Greedy buzzards,” spat Mrs. Joe, “They took the only thing that puts a Howler in the ground, and made it so most folks can’t even afford to think about it. Leave us here in the marshes to get ripped apart, while they play at Hunting for sport.”
Now, in the forge with Joe, I recalled the silver dagger I had seen – no, held! – on my first day with Miss Havisham. How elegant and graceful it seemed. What a marked contrast to the ugly, savage weapons Joe and I fabricated for the Brutal Hunters. And, how the beauty of this katana reminded me of that dagger – and of Estella.
“Joe!” I persisted in a tone verging on disrespectful, to my friend and master no less– so overwhelming was my curiosity. Had that bloviating churl, Pumblechook, been present, he would have no doubt marched me before the magistrate (or worse, my sister) for such an offense.
“Sorry, Pip, old chap,” said Joe catching himself out of his daze. “Which I meantersay that ‘that,’ by which what I mean ‘this,’ is called a kat-a-na sword.”
“But wherever did you acquire it?”
“Was ages, Pip. Long before you were born, or your sister married me by hand.”
I gingerly passed the sword to him in hopes that the tactile sensation would improve his memory. He held it high, inspected the straightness of the blade, and even gauged its balance, all the while I waited in agony for him to continue.
He finally did: “It were late one ev’ning, an’ a bit too close to a full moon to my liking, so I were running to get home. So there I were along the road an’ I see an ox cart broked on the side. Now, Pip, old chap, you know how I don’t pay no mind to no one’s business, ‘xcepting of course my own, you know that right?”
I nodded.
“But I got to thinking how this poor chap got stucked out there on his ownsome, and there was a Howler’s moon coming on and all. So’s I come up and offer a hand, or in actual, two. Well, I see that his wheel was cracked awful, and there was no use rolling it. So you know what I did, Pip, I picked up one side of the axel and walked that cart all the way to the forge. Next day, I fixed it all up nice and proper.” Joe now laughed at something in his story, though I could not discern what it was.
“The owner, of the ox cart I meantersay, were a strange one, I’ll tell you that, Pip. Little, he was, with a face like a cat. Never seen a man like that before and never again. Didn’t speak much in our tongue, but he were gentle as a lamb, an’ we got on famous. Now I apol’gize, Pip old chap, for I see that I’ve gone an’ rambled; so I’ll say it out now. The man he offered me some notes for my troubles, but I’d a have none of that. Was my duty help out, you see. So he goes an’ he reaches into his ox cart an’ pulls out this here sword what we’re spying at the present. He says this word ‘kat-a-na’ over and over. Then he wraps it in this leather here and puts it in my own hands. Before I could say another word, he were on his cart and off. And that were that.”
“And you kept it all this time?” I asked.
“Well,” said Joe a bit nervously, appearing more interested in his shoes than the conversation, “times got hard and I got to want for some necess’ries, so’s I tried to sell her, that is to say it, that is to mean this kat-a-na. But, as it goes, no Hunter were too eager to buy it. Little sword like that didn’t look like it’d do much to a Howler. It’d heal up right as you cut it. Now, if it were silver, of course – ah!”
He handed the sword back to me, though I was lost in thought. How could something so beautiful and seemingly useful be worthless?
Silver. It was what separated the Noble Hunters from the Brutal. In the early days of my apprenticeship, knowing nothing of the workings of the commodities market, I mentioned to Joe the idea that we should find some silver for ourselves and forge weapons therefrom. This evoked a shrieking laugh from Mrs. Joe, who suggested that I should climb up to the moon and see if I could find any silver there.
“Ain’t nobody like us has got silver, Pip;” said Joe, “them Nobles bought it all up ages ago. Couldn’t but get a scrap if we sold this ‘ole house.”
“Greedy buzzards,” spat Mrs. Joe, “They took the only thing that puts a Howler in the ground, and made it so most folks can’t even afford to think about it. Leave us here in the marshes to get ripped apart, while they play at Hunting for sport.”
Now, in the forge with Joe, I recalled the silver dagger I had seen – no, held! – on my first day with Miss Havisham. How elegant and graceful it seemed. What a marked contrast to the ugly, savage weapons Joe and I fabricated for the Brutal Hunters. And, how the beauty of this katana reminded me of that dagger – and of Estella.
Chapter 14, Part 2
I had still, even in this dark time, some brief moments of pleasure, though one in particular came from the most improbable source. Improbable it was, as I shall soon explain, as it came both from under my very nose and from halfway around the world.
For all my self-loathing as coarse and common, I toiled to become strong and skillful in combat with some delirious impression that such should prove my salvation and win the favor of Estella. I did not know how I would achieve this feat, only that I must achieve it. Accordingly, I still sparred with Biddy, from time to time, as well as practiced alone in Joe’s forge.
Once I mastered the rudimentary mechanics of Stamwick’s Forms of Combat, Biddy suggested that I graduate to more advanced exercises, which involved the use of real weaponry. I had long neglected to take this step, as every time that I held a spike-sword by the hilt, I was reminded of the barbarism of the Brutal Hunters in marshes those years ago, not to mention the sad events of Joe’s tale. As painful as it was to forge such instruments, wielding one even in mock-combat seemed all the more reprehensible.
It was entirely by accident - a serendipitous one to be sure - that I came upon that improbable object which proved the turning point of my education. I was laboring in the forge with Joe, when a wayward candle saw fit to roll under the heavy metal press. As a lit candle presented an unacceptable danger if left to its own, someone needed to fetch the errant waxen cylinder. And, since I happened to be the only someone whose arms were thin enough to reach under the press, the task fell to me.
I prostrated myself upon the floor of the forge - had Estella somehow seen me at this moment, I should have died on the very spot – and peered underneath the press. I could just barely see the candle and the fading orange glow of the cooling wick. Seeing no danger to myself or my arm, I groped blindly for the candle, only to have my fingers catch upon an unexpected texture. It felt of leather, but there was something turgid within it. I produced the candle first, for Joe’s peace of mind, and then mysterious item, for my own.
After securing and re-igniting the candle, I carefully placed the leather package on a work-bench. I glanced over my shoulder to Joe for the gentle encouragement he usually gave when I embarked on a new project, but found him dumb-struck as by some bewitching force. I unraveled the leather sheet and found that my tongue had forgotten how to operate as well.
It was a sword, to be sure, but unlike any I had ever seen in Joe’s forge or elsewhere. It was close to a meter in length, including the hilt. The blade was housed inside a black lacquered scabbard, which was carved out of a sturdy wood I did not recognize. I gripped the firm, yet slightly padded hilt to find that it could accommodate both of my hands, and yet the sword, when lifted, was light enough to be wielded in one. As I curled the fingers of my left hand round the scabbard, I looked back again to Joe for any sign of encouragement or remonstration. Seeing none in either direction, I pulled the sword from its resting place with a great “shink” that rang through the entire forge.
We stood there, Joe and I, I know not for how long, gazing at the gently curved blade. The silence was broken, quite unexpectedly, by Joe, who uttered a word with which I was unfamiliar: “Cat-Anna.”
For all my self-loathing as coarse and common, I toiled to become strong and skillful in combat with some delirious impression that such should prove my salvation and win the favor of Estella. I did not know how I would achieve this feat, only that I must achieve it. Accordingly, I still sparred with Biddy, from time to time, as well as practiced alone in Joe’s forge.
Once I mastered the rudimentary mechanics of Stamwick’s Forms of Combat, Biddy suggested that I graduate to more advanced exercises, which involved the use of real weaponry. I had long neglected to take this step, as every time that I held a spike-sword by the hilt, I was reminded of the barbarism of the Brutal Hunters in marshes those years ago, not to mention the sad events of Joe’s tale. As painful as it was to forge such instruments, wielding one even in mock-combat seemed all the more reprehensible.
It was entirely by accident - a serendipitous one to be sure - that I came upon that improbable object which proved the turning point of my education. I was laboring in the forge with Joe, when a wayward candle saw fit to roll under the heavy metal press. As a lit candle presented an unacceptable danger if left to its own, someone needed to fetch the errant waxen cylinder. And, since I happened to be the only someone whose arms were thin enough to reach under the press, the task fell to me.
I prostrated myself upon the floor of the forge - had Estella somehow seen me at this moment, I should have died on the very spot – and peered underneath the press. I could just barely see the candle and the fading orange glow of the cooling wick. Seeing no danger to myself or my arm, I groped blindly for the candle, only to have my fingers catch upon an unexpected texture. It felt of leather, but there was something turgid within it. I produced the candle first, for Joe’s peace of mind, and then mysterious item, for my own.
After securing and re-igniting the candle, I carefully placed the leather package on a work-bench. I glanced over my shoulder to Joe for the gentle encouragement he usually gave when I embarked on a new project, but found him dumb-struck as by some bewitching force. I unraveled the leather sheet and found that my tongue had forgotten how to operate as well.
It was a sword, to be sure, but unlike any I had ever seen in Joe’s forge or elsewhere. It was close to a meter in length, including the hilt. The blade was housed inside a black lacquered scabbard, which was carved out of a sturdy wood I did not recognize. I gripped the firm, yet slightly padded hilt to find that it could accommodate both of my hands, and yet the sword, when lifted, was light enough to be wielded in one. As I curled the fingers of my left hand round the scabbard, I looked back again to Joe for any sign of encouragement or remonstration. Seeing none in either direction, I pulled the sword from its resting place with a great “shink” that rang through the entire forge.
We stood there, Joe and I, I know not for how long, gazing at the gently curved blade. The silence was broken, quite unexpectedly, by Joe, who uttered a word with which I was unfamiliar: “Cat-Anna.”
Chapter 14, Part 1
It is a most miserable thing to feel ashamed of home. There may be black ingratitude in the thing, and the punishment may be retributive and well deserved; but, that it is a miserable thing, I can testify.
Home had never been a very pleasant place to me, because of my sister's temper. But, Joe had sanctified it, and I had believed in it. I had believed in the best parlor as a most elegant saloon; I had believed in the forge as the glowing road to manhood and independence. Within a single year, all this was changed. Now, it was all coarse and common, and I would not have had Miss Havisham and Estella see it on any account.
How much of my ungracious condition of mind may have been my own fault, how much Miss Havisham's, how much my sister's, is now of no moment to me or to any one. The change was made in me; the thing was done. Well or ill done, excusably or inexcusably, it was done.
Once, it had seemed to me that when I should at last roll up my shirt-sleeves and go into the forge, Joe's 'prentice, I should be distinguished and happy. Now the reality was in my hold, I only felt that I was dusty with the dust of small coal, and that I had a weight upon my daily remembrance to which the anvil was a feather. There have been occasions in my later life (I suppose as in most lives) when I have felt for a time as if a thick curtain had fallen on all its interest and romance, to shut me out from anything save dull endurance any more. Never has that curtain dropped so heavy and blank, as when my way in life lay stretched out straight before me through the newly-entered road of apprenticeship to Joe.
What I wanted, who can say? How can I say, when I never knew? What I dreaded was, that in some unlucky hour I, being at my grimiest and commonest, should lift up my eyes and see Estella looking in at one of the wooden windows of the forge. I was haunted by the fear that she would, sooner or later, find me out, with a black face and hands, doing the coarsest part of my work, and would exult over me and despise me.
I was quite as dejected on the first working-day of my apprenticeship as in that after-time; but I am glad to know that I never breathed a murmur to Joe while my indentures lasted.
After a day’s work, when we went in to supper, the place and the meal would have a more homely look than ever, and I would feel more ashamed of home than ever, in my own ungracious breast.
Home had never been a very pleasant place to me, because of my sister's temper. But, Joe had sanctified it, and I had believed in it. I had believed in the best parlor as a most elegant saloon; I had believed in the forge as the glowing road to manhood and independence. Within a single year, all this was changed. Now, it was all coarse and common, and I would not have had Miss Havisham and Estella see it on any account.
How much of my ungracious condition of mind may have been my own fault, how much Miss Havisham's, how much my sister's, is now of no moment to me or to any one. The change was made in me; the thing was done. Well or ill done, excusably or inexcusably, it was done.
Once, it had seemed to me that when I should at last roll up my shirt-sleeves and go into the forge, Joe's 'prentice, I should be distinguished and happy. Now the reality was in my hold, I only felt that I was dusty with the dust of small coal, and that I had a weight upon my daily remembrance to which the anvil was a feather. There have been occasions in my later life (I suppose as in most lives) when I have felt for a time as if a thick curtain had fallen on all its interest and romance, to shut me out from anything save dull endurance any more. Never has that curtain dropped so heavy and blank, as when my way in life lay stretched out straight before me through the newly-entered road of apprenticeship to Joe.
What I wanted, who can say? How can I say, when I never knew? What I dreaded was, that in some unlucky hour I, being at my grimiest and commonest, should lift up my eyes and see Estella looking in at one of the wooden windows of the forge. I was haunted by the fear that she would, sooner or later, find me out, with a black face and hands, doing the coarsest part of my work, and would exult over me and despise me.
I was quite as dejected on the first working-day of my apprenticeship as in that after-time; but I am glad to know that I never breathed a murmur to Joe while my indentures lasted.
After a day’s work, when we went in to supper, the place and the meal would have a more homely look than ever, and I would feel more ashamed of home than ever, in my own ungracious breast.
Chapter 13, Part 3
The Justices were sitting in the Town Hall near at hand, and we at once went over to have me bound apprentice to Joe in the Magisterial presence. I say, we went over, but I was pushed over by Pumblechook, exactly as if I were a dangerous fugitive; indeed, it was the general impression in Court that I had been taken from the Brutal Hunters, for, as Pumblechook shoved me before him through the crowd, I heard some people say, "Howlers was out last night.” and “I bet he were bit.”
The Hall was a queer place, I thought, with higher pews in it than a church - and with people hanging over the pews looking on - and with mighty Justices (one with a powdered head) leaning back in chairs, with folded arms, or taking snuff, or going to sleep, or writing, or reading the newspapers - and with some shining black portraits on the walls. Here, in a corner, my indentures were duly signed and attested, and I was "bound."
When we had come out again, and had got rid of the boys who had been put into great spirits by the expectation of seeing me publicly chained and led to the Hulks, and who were much disappointed to find that my friends were merely rallying round me, we went back to Pumblechook's. And there my sister became so excited by the twenty-five pounds, that nothing would serve her but we must have a dinner out of that windfall, at the Blue Boar, and that Pumblechook must go over in his chaise-cart, and bring the Hubbles and Mr. Wopsle.
It was agreed to be done; and a most melancholy day I passed. For, it inscrutably appeared to stand to reason, in the minds of the whole company, that I was an excrescence on the entertainment. And to make it worse, they all asked me from time to time - in short, whenever they had nothing else to do - why I didn't enjoy myself. And what could I possibly do then, but say I was enjoying myself - when I wasn't?
I remember that when I finally got into my little bedroom, I was truly wretched, and had a strong conviction on me that I should never like Joe's trade. It was course and common, but above all, frightfully cruel – though not directly. What was once my greatest aspiration had become a vile, debased thing. I had liked it once, but once was not now.
The Hall was a queer place, I thought, with higher pews in it than a church - and with people hanging over the pews looking on - and with mighty Justices (one with a powdered head) leaning back in chairs, with folded arms, or taking snuff, or going to sleep, or writing, or reading the newspapers - and with some shining black portraits on the walls. Here, in a corner, my indentures were duly signed and attested, and I was "bound."
When we had come out again, and had got rid of the boys who had been put into great spirits by the expectation of seeing me publicly chained and led to the Hulks, and who were much disappointed to find that my friends were merely rallying round me, we went back to Pumblechook's. And there my sister became so excited by the twenty-five pounds, that nothing would serve her but we must have a dinner out of that windfall, at the Blue Boar, and that Pumblechook must go over in his chaise-cart, and bring the Hubbles and Mr. Wopsle.
It was agreed to be done; and a most melancholy day I passed. For, it inscrutably appeared to stand to reason, in the minds of the whole company, that I was an excrescence on the entertainment. And to make it worse, they all asked me from time to time - in short, whenever they had nothing else to do - why I didn't enjoy myself. And what could I possibly do then, but say I was enjoying myself - when I wasn't?
I remember that when I finally got into my little bedroom, I was truly wretched, and had a strong conviction on me that I should never like Joe's trade. It was course and common, but above all, frightfully cruel – though not directly. What was once my greatest aspiration had become a vile, debased thing. I had liked it once, but once was not now.
Chapter 13, Part 2
When we stood in the daylight alone again, Joe backed up against a wall, and said to me, "Astonishing!" And there he remained so long, saying "Astonishing" at intervals, so often, that I began to think his senses were never coming back. At length he prolonged his remark into "Pip, I do assure you this is as-TONishing!" and so, by degrees, became conversational and able to walk away.
"Well?" cried my sister, addressing us both at once when we returned to Mr. Pumblechook's parlor. "And what's happened to you? I wonder you condescend to come back to such poor society as this, I am sure I do!"
"Miss Havisham," said Joe, with a fixed look at me, like an effort of remembrance, "made it wery partick'ler that we should give her - were it compliments or respects, Pip?"
"Compliments," I said.
"Which that were my own belief," answered Joe - "her compliments to Mrs. J. Gargery--"
"Much good they'll do me!" observed my sister; but rather gratified too. “And what did she give young Rantipole here?"
"She giv' him," said Joe, "nothing."
Mrs. Joe was going to break out, but Joe went on.
"What she giv'," said Joe, "she giv' to his friends. 'And by his friends,' were her explanation, 'I mean into the hands of his sister Mrs. J. Gargery.'"
My sister looked at Pumblechook: who smoothed the elbows of his wooden armchair, and nodded at her and at the fire, as if he had known all about it beforehand.
"And how much have you got?" asked my sister, laughing. Positively, laughing!
"What would present company say to five - ” he paused here for greater effect, “and twenty pound?" demanded Joe, delightedly handing the bag to my sister.
"Now you see, Joseph and wife," said that basest of swindlers, Pumblechook, as he took me by the arm above the elbow, "I am one of them that always go right through with what they've begun. This boy must be bound, out of hand. That's my way. Bound out of hand."
"Goodness knows, Uncle Pumblechook," said my sister (grasping the money), "we're deeply beholden to you."
"Never mind me, Mum, returned that diabolical corn-chandler. "A pleasure's a pleasure, all the world over. But this boy, you know; we must have him bound. I said I'd see to it - to tell you the truth."
"Well?" cried my sister, addressing us both at once when we returned to Mr. Pumblechook's parlor. "And what's happened to you? I wonder you condescend to come back to such poor society as this, I am sure I do!"
"Miss Havisham," said Joe, with a fixed look at me, like an effort of remembrance, "made it wery partick'ler that we should give her - were it compliments or respects, Pip?"
"Compliments," I said.
"Which that were my own belief," answered Joe - "her compliments to Mrs. J. Gargery--"
"Much good they'll do me!" observed my sister; but rather gratified too. “And what did she give young Rantipole here?"
"She giv' him," said Joe, "nothing."
Mrs. Joe was going to break out, but Joe went on.
"What she giv'," said Joe, "she giv' to his friends. 'And by his friends,' were her explanation, 'I mean into the hands of his sister Mrs. J. Gargery.'"
My sister looked at Pumblechook: who smoothed the elbows of his wooden armchair, and nodded at her and at the fire, as if he had known all about it beforehand.
"And how much have you got?" asked my sister, laughing. Positively, laughing!
"What would present company say to five - ” he paused here for greater effect, “and twenty pound?" demanded Joe, delightedly handing the bag to my sister.
"Now you see, Joseph and wife," said that basest of swindlers, Pumblechook, as he took me by the arm above the elbow, "I am one of them that always go right through with what they've begun. This boy must be bound, out of hand. That's my way. Bound out of hand."
"Goodness knows, Uncle Pumblechook," said my sister (grasping the money), "we're deeply beholden to you."
"Never mind me, Mum, returned that diabolical corn-chandler. "A pleasure's a pleasure, all the world over. But this boy, you know; we must have him bound. I said I'd see to it - to tell you the truth."
Chapter 13, Part 1
It was a trial to my feelings, on the next day, to see Joe arraying himself in his Sunday clothes to accompany me to Miss Havisham's. However, as he thought his court-suit necessary to the occasion, it was not for me tell him that he looked far better in his working dress; the rather, because I knew he made himself so dreadfully uncomfortable, entirely on my account, and that it was for me he pulled up his shirt-collar so very high behind, that it made the hair on the crown of his head stand up like a tuft of feathers.
We walked to town, my sister leading the way in a very large beaver bonnet, and carrying a basket like the Great Seal of England in plaited straw, a pair of pattens, a spare shawl, and an umbrella, though it was a fine bright day. I am not quite clear whether these articles were carried penitentially or ostentatiously; but, I rather think they were displayed as articles of property - much as Cleopatra or any other sovereign lady on the Ram-page might exhibit her wealth in a pageant or procession.
When we came to Pumblechook's, my sister bounced in and left us. As it was almost noon, Joe and I held straight on to Miss Havisham's house. Estella opened the gate as usual, and, the moment she appeared, Joe took his hat off and stood weighing it by the brim in both his hands: as if he had some urgent reason in his mind for being particular to half a quarter of an ounce.
Estella told me we were both to go in, so I took Joe by the coat-cuff and conducted him into Miss Havisham's presence. She was seated at her dressing-table, and looked round at us immediately.
"Oh!" said she to Joe. "You are the husband of the sister of this boy?"
It was very aggravating; but, throughout the interview Joe persisted in addressing Me instead of Miss Havisham.
"Which I meantersay, Pip," Joe now observed in a manner that was at once expressive of forcible argumentation, strict confidence, and great politeness, "as I hup and married your sister, and I were at the time what you might call (if you was anyways inclined) a single man."
"Well!" said Miss Havisham. "And you have reared the boy, with the intention of taking him for your apprentice; is that so, Mr. Gargery?"
"You know, Pip," replied Joe, "as you and me were ever friends, and it were looked for'ard to betwixt us, as being calc'lated to lead to larks. Not but what, Pip, if you had ever made objections to the business - such as its being cruel or open to sut, or such-like - not but what they would have been attended to, don't you see?"
"Has the boy," said Miss Havisham, "ever made any objection? Does he like the trade?"
"Which it is well beknown to yourself, Pip," returned Joe, strengthening his former mixture of argumentation, confidence, and politeness, "that it were the wish of your own hart. And there weren't no objection on your part, and Pip it were the great wish of your hart!"
It was quite in vain for me to endeavor to make him sensible that he ought to speak to Miss Havisham. The more I made faces and gestures to him to do it, the more confidential, argumentative, and polite he persisted in being to Me.
"Have you brought his indentures with you?" asked Miss Havisham.
"Well, Pip, you know," replied Joe, as if that were a little unreasonable, "you yourself see me put 'em in my 'at, and therefore you know as they are here." With which he took them out, and gave them, not to Miss Havisham, but to me. I am afraid I was ashamed of the dear good fellow - I know I was ashamed of him - when I saw that Estella stood at the back of Miss Havisham's chair, and that her eyes laughed mischievously. I took the indentures out of his hand and gave them to Miss Havisham.
"You expected," said Miss Havisham, as she looked them over, "no premium with the boy?"
"Joe!" I remonstrated; for he made no reply at all. "Why don't you answer--"
"Pip," returned Joe, cutting me short as if he were hurt, "which I meantersay that were not a question requiring a answer betwixt yourself and me, and which you know the answer to be full well No. You know it to be No, Pip, and wherefore should I say it?"
Miss Havisham glanced at him as if she understood what he really was, better than I had thought possible, seeing what he was there; and took up a little bag from the table beside her.
"Pip has earned a premium here," she said, "and here it is. There are five-and-twenty pounds in this bag. Give it to your master, Pip."
"Am I to come again, Miss Havisham?" I asked.
"No. Gargery is your master now.”
We walked to town, my sister leading the way in a very large beaver bonnet, and carrying a basket like the Great Seal of England in plaited straw, a pair of pattens, a spare shawl, and an umbrella, though it was a fine bright day. I am not quite clear whether these articles were carried penitentially or ostentatiously; but, I rather think they were displayed as articles of property - much as Cleopatra or any other sovereign lady on the Ram-page might exhibit her wealth in a pageant or procession.
When we came to Pumblechook's, my sister bounced in and left us. As it was almost noon, Joe and I held straight on to Miss Havisham's house. Estella opened the gate as usual, and, the moment she appeared, Joe took his hat off and stood weighing it by the brim in both his hands: as if he had some urgent reason in his mind for being particular to half a quarter of an ounce.
Estella told me we were both to go in, so I took Joe by the coat-cuff and conducted him into Miss Havisham's presence. She was seated at her dressing-table, and looked round at us immediately.
"Oh!" said she to Joe. "You are the husband of the sister of this boy?"
It was very aggravating; but, throughout the interview Joe persisted in addressing Me instead of Miss Havisham.
"Which I meantersay, Pip," Joe now observed in a manner that was at once expressive of forcible argumentation, strict confidence, and great politeness, "as I hup and married your sister, and I were at the time what you might call (if you was anyways inclined) a single man."
"Well!" said Miss Havisham. "And you have reared the boy, with the intention of taking him for your apprentice; is that so, Mr. Gargery?"
"You know, Pip," replied Joe, "as you and me were ever friends, and it were looked for'ard to betwixt us, as being calc'lated to lead to larks. Not but what, Pip, if you had ever made objections to the business - such as its being cruel or open to sut, or such-like - not but what they would have been attended to, don't you see?"
"Has the boy," said Miss Havisham, "ever made any objection? Does he like the trade?"
"Which it is well beknown to yourself, Pip," returned Joe, strengthening his former mixture of argumentation, confidence, and politeness, "that it were the wish of your own hart. And there weren't no objection on your part, and Pip it were the great wish of your hart!"
It was quite in vain for me to endeavor to make him sensible that he ought to speak to Miss Havisham. The more I made faces and gestures to him to do it, the more confidential, argumentative, and polite he persisted in being to Me.
"Have you brought his indentures with you?" asked Miss Havisham.
"Well, Pip, you know," replied Joe, as if that were a little unreasonable, "you yourself see me put 'em in my 'at, and therefore you know as they are here." With which he took them out, and gave them, not to Miss Havisham, but to me. I am afraid I was ashamed of the dear good fellow - I know I was ashamed of him - when I saw that Estella stood at the back of Miss Havisham's chair, and that her eyes laughed mischievously. I took the indentures out of his hand and gave them to Miss Havisham.
"You expected," said Miss Havisham, as she looked them over, "no premium with the boy?"
"Joe!" I remonstrated; for he made no reply at all. "Why don't you answer--"
"Pip," returned Joe, cutting me short as if he were hurt, "which I meantersay that were not a question requiring a answer betwixt yourself and me, and which you know the answer to be full well No. You know it to be No, Pip, and wherefore should I say it?"
Miss Havisham glanced at him as if she understood what he really was, better than I had thought possible, seeing what he was there; and took up a little bag from the table beside her.
"Pip has earned a premium here," she said, "and here it is. There are five-and-twenty pounds in this bag. Give it to your master, Pip."
"Am I to come again, Miss Havisham?" I asked.
"No. Gargery is your master now.”
Chapter 12, Part 2
We went on in this way for a long time, and it seemed likely that we should continue to go on in this way for a long time, when, one day, Miss Havisham stopped short as she and I were walking, she leaning on my shoulder; and said with some displeasure:
"You are growing tall, Pip!"
I thought it best to hint, through the medium of a meditative look, that this might be occasioned by circumstances over which I had no control.
She said no more at the time; but, she presently stopped and looked at me again; and presently again; and after that, looked frowning and moody. On the next day of my attendance when our usual exercise was over, and I had landed her at her dressing-table, she stayed me with a movement of her impatient fingers:
"Tell me the name again of that blacksmith of yours – the weapon maker."
"Joe Gargery, ma'am."
"Meaning the master you were to be apprenticed to?"
"Yes, Miss Havisham."
"You had better be apprenticed at once. Would Gargery come here with you, and bring your indentures, do you think?"
I signified that I had no doubt he would take it as an honor to be asked.
"Then let him come."
"At any particular time, Miss Havisham?"
"There, there! I know nothing about times. Let him come soon, and come along with you."
When I got home at night, and delivered this message for Joe, my sister "went on the Ram-page," in a more alarming degree than at any previous period. She asked me and Joe whether we supposed she was door-mats under our feet, and how we dared to use her so, and what company we graciously thought she was fit for? When she had exhausted a torrent of such inquiries, she threw a candlestick at Joe, burst into a loud sobbing, got out the dustpan - which was always a very bad sign - put on her coarse apron, and began cleaning up to a terrible extent. Not satisfied with a dry cleaning, she took to a pail and scrubbing-brush, and cleaned us out of house and home. We stood shivering in the back-yard, looking up at a menacingly full moon, with our ears perked and wits about us. It was ten o'clock at night before we ventured to creep in again, by which time we had already heard four distinct howls.
"You are growing tall, Pip!"
I thought it best to hint, through the medium of a meditative look, that this might be occasioned by circumstances over which I had no control.
She said no more at the time; but, she presently stopped and looked at me again; and presently again; and after that, looked frowning and moody. On the next day of my attendance when our usual exercise was over, and I had landed her at her dressing-table, she stayed me with a movement of her impatient fingers:
"Tell me the name again of that blacksmith of yours – the weapon maker."
"Joe Gargery, ma'am."
"Meaning the master you were to be apprenticed to?"
"Yes, Miss Havisham."
"You had better be apprenticed at once. Would Gargery come here with you, and bring your indentures, do you think?"
I signified that I had no doubt he would take it as an honor to be asked.
"Then let him come."
"At any particular time, Miss Havisham?"
"There, there! I know nothing about times. Let him come soon, and come along with you."
When I got home at night, and delivered this message for Joe, my sister "went on the Ram-page," in a more alarming degree than at any previous period. She asked me and Joe whether we supposed she was door-mats under our feet, and how we dared to use her so, and what company we graciously thought she was fit for? When she had exhausted a torrent of such inquiries, she threw a candlestick at Joe, burst into a loud sobbing, got out the dustpan - which was always a very bad sign - put on her coarse apron, and began cleaning up to a terrible extent. Not satisfied with a dry cleaning, she took to a pail and scrubbing-brush, and cleaned us out of house and home. We stood shivering in the back-yard, looking up at a menacingly full moon, with our ears perked and wits about us. It was ten o'clock at night before we ventured to creep in again, by which time we had already heard four distinct howls.
Chapter 12, Part 1
My mind grew very uneasy on the subject of the pale young gentleman. The more I thought of the fight, and recalled the pale young gentleman on his back in various stages of puffy and incrimsoned countenance, the more certain it appeared that something would be done to me. I felt that the pale young gentleman's blood was on my head, and that the Law would avenge it. Without having any definite idea of the penalties I had incurred, it was clear to me that village boys could not go stalking about the country, ravaging the houses of gentlefolks and pitching into the studious youth of England, without laying themselves open to severe punishment.
When the day came round for my return to the scene of the deed of violence, my terrors reached their height. The wounds I inflicted had become so exaggerated in my mind, that I began to have strange fantasies that, upon finding the pale young gentleman bloody and battered, his relatives would suspect that the injuries were caused by a Howl Beast. And, logically, that I myself must be one! What then? Would the myrmidons of Justice, those Noble Hunters, specially sent down from London, lie in ambush behind the gate? Would Miss Havisham, preferring to take personal vengeance for an outrage done to her house, rise in those grave-clothes of hers, draw her silver dagger, and pierce my heart? Or, would they deny the dignity of a noble death and engage that band of mercenaries, the Brutal Hunters, to fall upon me in the brewery, and cuff me until I was no more?
However, go to Miss Havisham's I must, and go I did. And behold! nothing came of the late struggle. It was not alluded to in any way, and no pale young gentleman was to be discovered on the premises. I found the same gate open, and I explored the garden, and even looked in at the windows of the detached house; but, my view was suddenly stopped by the closed shutters within, and all was lifeless.
On the broad landing between Miss Havisham's own room and that other room in which the long table was laid out, I saw a garden-chair - a light chair on wheels that you pushed from behind. It had been placed there since my last visit, and I entered, that same day, on a regular occupation of pushing Miss Havisham in this chair (when she was tired of walking with her hand upon my shoulder) round her own room, and across the landing, and round the other room. Over and over and over again, we would make these journeys, and sometimes they would last as long as three hours at a stretch. I insensibly fall into a general mention of these journeys as numerous, because it was at once settled that I should return every alternate day at noon for these purposes, and because I am now going to sum up a period of at least eight or ten months.
As we began to be more used to one another, Miss Havisham talked more to me, and asked me such questions as what had I learnt and what was I going to be? I told her I was going to be apprenticed to Joe, I believed, in the hope that she might offer some help towards that desirable end. But, she did not. Neither did she ever give me any money - or anything but my daily dinner - nor ever stipulate that I should be paid for my services.
Estella was always about, and always let me in and out, but never told me I might kiss her again. I would see her at times, practicing her martial arts in the garden – often by herself, but sometimes with instructors whom I noticed she bested in combat with some frequency. She was a marvel to observe, as she inexplicably seemed to have both the grace of Biddy and the strength of Joe.
Miss Havisham would often ask me in a whisper, or when we were alone, "Does she grow prettier and prettier, Pip?" And when I said yes (for indeed she did), would seem to enjoy it greedily. Also, when we sparred, Miss Havisham would look on, with a miserly relish of Estella's immaculate technique, and would embrace her with lavish fondness, murmuring something in her ear that sounded like "Tear out their hearts my pride and hope, tear out their hearts and have no mercy!"
When the day came round for my return to the scene of the deed of violence, my terrors reached their height. The wounds I inflicted had become so exaggerated in my mind, that I began to have strange fantasies that, upon finding the pale young gentleman bloody and battered, his relatives would suspect that the injuries were caused by a Howl Beast. And, logically, that I myself must be one! What then? Would the myrmidons of Justice, those Noble Hunters, specially sent down from London, lie in ambush behind the gate? Would Miss Havisham, preferring to take personal vengeance for an outrage done to her house, rise in those grave-clothes of hers, draw her silver dagger, and pierce my heart? Or, would they deny the dignity of a noble death and engage that band of mercenaries, the Brutal Hunters, to fall upon me in the brewery, and cuff me until I was no more?
However, go to Miss Havisham's I must, and go I did. And behold! nothing came of the late struggle. It was not alluded to in any way, and no pale young gentleman was to be discovered on the premises. I found the same gate open, and I explored the garden, and even looked in at the windows of the detached house; but, my view was suddenly stopped by the closed shutters within, and all was lifeless.
On the broad landing between Miss Havisham's own room and that other room in which the long table was laid out, I saw a garden-chair - a light chair on wheels that you pushed from behind. It had been placed there since my last visit, and I entered, that same day, on a regular occupation of pushing Miss Havisham in this chair (when she was tired of walking with her hand upon my shoulder) round her own room, and across the landing, and round the other room. Over and over and over again, we would make these journeys, and sometimes they would last as long as three hours at a stretch. I insensibly fall into a general mention of these journeys as numerous, because it was at once settled that I should return every alternate day at noon for these purposes, and because I am now going to sum up a period of at least eight or ten months.
As we began to be more used to one another, Miss Havisham talked more to me, and asked me such questions as what had I learnt and what was I going to be? I told her I was going to be apprenticed to Joe, I believed, in the hope that she might offer some help towards that desirable end. But, she did not. Neither did she ever give me any money - or anything but my daily dinner - nor ever stipulate that I should be paid for my services.
Estella was always about, and always let me in and out, but never told me I might kiss her again. I would see her at times, practicing her martial arts in the garden – often by herself, but sometimes with instructors whom I noticed she bested in combat with some frequency. She was a marvel to observe, as she inexplicably seemed to have both the grace of Biddy and the strength of Joe.
Miss Havisham would often ask me in a whisper, or when we were alone, "Does she grow prettier and prettier, Pip?" And when I said yes (for indeed she did), would seem to enjoy it greedily. Also, when we sparred, Miss Havisham would look on, with a miserly relish of Estella's immaculate technique, and would embrace her with lavish fondness, murmuring something in her ear that sounded like "Tear out their hearts my pride and hope, tear out their hearts and have no mercy!"
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