Roughing it.
Ne'er saw I, never felt a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God, the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still.
--Wordsworth
Next morning Benny was stirring early, and when the first faint rays of
the coming day peeped through the dust-begrimed and patched-up window,
they saw the little fellow busily engaged in gathering together what
things he and Nelly possessed previous to their final departure from
home.
Nelly still slept on, and several times the brother paused and looked
fondly down upon the fair face of the sleeping child. She looked very
beautiful, Benny thought, as she lay sleeping there, with a pink spot
glowing on either cheek, and the long flaxen hair thrown carelessly back
from the pale forehead. Once or twice she murmured in her sheep, and the
same happy smile spread over her face that he had noticed the evening
before when she sat gazing into Joe Wrag's fire.
"I wonder what she's a-dreamin' on?" he murmured to himself. "Perhaps
she sees the hills and flowers and trees agin."
Then he set to work again turning over a heap of rubbish that had been
pushed as far back as possible under the stairs. At length a joyful
exclamation burst from his lips as he came upon a small heap of potatoes.
"Here's a fortin', an' no mistake; Nell and I'll be able to walk off the
lot."
And he brought them out into the room, and wrapped them up in an old
handkerchief that his stepmother used to tie round her head when she
went out. There were scarcely twenty potatoes altogether, but to Benny
they seemed almost an inexhaustible supply.
This being done, he sat down beside his sleeping sister and waited until
he should hear any movement in the room above. Gradually the cold grey
light of the morning stole into the room, revealing all its squalor and
dinginess, and Benny felt that he and Nelly would have to make their
escape soon, or else they might be prevented. He felt very loth to awake
his sister, she slept so sweetly, and he did not know where they might
find a shelter when darkness covered the earth again. But there was no
help for it. His father might awake any moment, and the neighbours would
soon be stirring in the court and in Bowker's Row. So bending over her,
he pressed his lips upon her brow: still she moved not.
"Nelly," he whispered, "it's time to be movin'."
Slowly the great round eyes opened, and looked languidly up into his
face.
"Come, stir your pegs, Nell, or we'll be too late."
"Oh, ay," she said, as the recollection of the previous evening came
back to her. "We 'as to be off to-day, ain't we?"
"Ay, my gal, we's goin' on our own 'ook now, so look alive."
"Does yer think we's doin' right, Benny?"
"'Course we is, Nell; I'll take care o' yer, never fear."
Thus reassured, she followed Benny silently out of the house and into
Bowker's Row; then seeing that no one was about, they set off at a quick
trot in the direction from whence they had come the previous night.
Nelly had the utmost confidence in Benny's sagacity, and though she had
doubted for a moment whether they were doing the wisest thing in the
course they were taking, yet she had little doubt that her brother would
be equal to every emergency, and that he would find her a home of some
sort. And the child had a vague, undefined feeling that they could not
be worse off, whatever might happen. To see her Benny punished as she
had so frequently done of late was "pain and grief" to her: not only had
he suffered the pinchings of cold and hunger during the day, but he had
been compelled to bring home a certain amount every night, or else take
the consequences of her father's senseless anger.
And as the child thought of these things she could not wonder that Benny
had resolved to run away and seek a home somewhere else. But what of
herself? She had on the whole been much better treated, and she thought
perhaps her father did not well know what he was doing last night, as
he was in drink. Ought she, then, to run away? "Ay, but I canna leave
Benny," was her mental response; and having settled that question,
she seemed perfectly satisfied to share the fortunes of her brother,
whatever they might be, and help him as best she could to fight the
battle of life.
As for Benny, he had no qualms of conscience about the matter. He had
never heard the command,
"Honour thy father and thy mother," and even if he had, it would not
have troubled him on the present occasion. He had a feeling that he had
been wronged, cruelly wronged, and that he ought not to stand it any
longer. Once the question had crossed his mind, "Had he any right to
take those potatoes?" But he answered the question to himself by saying,
"Ain't I brought home a haaf a bob every night for th' week, an' then
bin kep' without supper? By jabbers, I's paid for those taters, and I'll
eat 'em." Moreover, his notions of right and wrong were of the vaguest
character. He had some dim recollection of his mother, and how she used
to tell him it was wrong to steal, and to tell lies, and to cheat. But
the more he tried to recall it, the vaguer the recollection became. Yet
sometimes when he was tempted to steal, and would look around to see
that no one was watching him, a voice within him would whisper, "Don't,
Benny, it is wrong to steal," and he would turn away with a sigh,
feeling that there was something in that voice that he dared not disobey.
In after years he held firmly to the belief that his own mother was
permitted to be the guardian angel of his childhood, and that it was
she who whispered to him when he was tempted to do wrong. He has
also been heard to say, that though he regarded it as very wrong for
children, under ordinary circumstances, to leave their home without
their parents' consent, yet in his case he thought his action perfectly
justifiable.
But we must leave this question, with the hope that none of the children
who read this story may be driven by cruelty and wrong to a similar
course of action, and must follow the little waifs as they threaded
their way through the dingy streets that cold December morning. Their
object was to reach Joe Wrag's fire before his watch ended, and in this
they were successful. Joe was standing before his hut, rubbing his hands
over the still glowing grate, though Benny noticed that the fire was
burning low.
"We's brought some taters from hum, may we cook 'em on yer fire, Joe?"
said Benny, putting on as bold a face as he could. Joe looked at the
children for a moment without speaking.
"Please do, Joe, like a good man," chimed in Nelly's plaintive voice.
"Come along with yer, then. But how are 'e out so airly?"
"Lots o' bisness on hand," was Benny's prompt reply.
"There's some'at up wi' you youngsters, I reckon. But yer not goin' to
eat all these taters at once, are yer?"
"Oh, no!" said Benny, "we on'y want two apiece, and we want you to keep
the rest till we comes agin."
"Very likely story," said Joe, gruffly. "Where's yer bin stealin' 'em
from?"
"Oh, nowheres, Joe," said Nelly. "We bringed 'em from hum, we did, for
sure."
"Well, ain't that a-stealin' on 'em?"
"No!" said Benny stoutly. "I's tooked 'em hum a haaf a bob every night
for t' week, and they b'longs to me."
Joe shook his head dubiously, as if not certain of the soundness of
Benny's logic, but made no further reply. He, however, gave his aid
to the children in cooking their potatoes, which were soon done to a
nicety, and even gave them a piece of bread, the remains of his own
morning's repast. Thus fortified, the children were soon ready for the
duties of the day.
Their first business was to go into Park Lane and get in a stock of
matches for the day's sale; this done, they separated and went their
different ways, agreeing to meet in the shadow of St. George's Church at
twelve o'clock, and at four, to report progress.
Nelly's stand was near the junction of Lord Street, Church Street,
Paradise Street, and Whitechapel, going occasionally as far as the
"Sailors' Home." Benny, on the other hand, waited about near the
landing-stage, selling his matches if he could, but at the same time
looking out for an opportunity of carrying some gentleman's bag.
But to-day Benny had another object in view, and that was to discover,
if possible, some place where he and his sister might sleep when night
came on. He knew of a place where, for the payment of a penny each, they
might sleep in a cellar on some dirty straw amongst a lot of rough boys.
But somehow Benny shrank from introducing his sister to such company as
there assembled night after night. He must find some place where they
could be alone, if possible, though he felt that that would be no easy
matter.
The day was beautifully fine, with a clear frosty sky, and both Benny
and his sister carried on a brisk sale in fusees, and when they met at
noon they were in high spirits over the proceeds of the day. Still Benny
had found no place as yet where to spend the night.
During the afternoon, however, his attention was directed to some
sailors who were caulking a boat not far from the George's Dock. The
boat he noticed was turned bottom upward, and that it had one end stove
in; evidently it had had rough handling somewhere. And besides this,
Benny noticed that there was a large quantity of hemp and tow on which
the sailors were kneeling while at their work. Several times during the
afternoon he took a look at the sailors, and when at length he saw them
lift up the boat and push the tow underneath, his mind was made up.
"Stunnin'!" he ejaculated; "I b'lieve we is in luck's way to-day.
Couldna have bin better if it wer' a-made for us."
Punctually at four o'clock the children were at their trysting-place.
They were both in high spirits, for their profits were larger than they
had been for many a day past. Benny especially was in high glee, for he
had the prospect of a comfortable lodging-place for the night, without
any fear of his father's fury, and was consequently eager to communicate
his discovery to Nelly.
"Golly, Nell," was his greeting, using his favourite expression, "it's a
heap too cold to stick in one place. Let's off into Park Lane and git a
feed; we can 'ford it to-night."
And off they started, hand in hand. The place to which they directed
their steps was not the most select, the character of the customers
being of no consequence, so long as the money was forthcoming. This fact
was well known to Benny, so he entered, leading his sister by the hand,
without any trepidation. It was a long narrow room in which they found
themselves, with several small tables placed at regular intervals down
the sides. A bright fire was burning in the farther end of the room,
near which Benny took his seat, requesting that "two penny loaves might
be brought, and a pennorth of cheese."
They remained as long as they felt they dared do so, then again sought
the wintry streets. But the keen frosty air made them long for shelter,
and once more they sought the glowing grate of honest Joe Wrag. The
old man seemed pleased to see them, and made room for them in his hut,
though he said little. Oh, how the fire glowed and crackled in the keen
frosty air, revealing to little Nelly Bates scenes of wondrous beauty!
And as Joe watched her face glowing in the firelight, he muttered to
himself, "Purty little hangel; I hopes she'll grow up good, or--or
die--ay, or die!"
It was after eight o'clock when they left Joe's warm hut, for Nelly had
pleaded so hard to stay that he could not deny her request. She seemed
to be twining herself around the old man's heart in a wonderful manner,
and but for his fury of a wife he would have taken her to his own home
when it became known to him that the children were homeless.
It did not take them long to reach the boat; and having satisfied
themselves that they were not noticed, they crept underneath in a
"jiffey," as Benny would have expressed it.
"Brimstone and treacle!" said Benny, as he put his hand on the large
heap of tow; "ain't this sumpshus? We'll be as snug as Jonar 'ere."
"Ay, Benny, this is fine."
"Let's shut out all the daylight fust, Nell, an' then the cold won't git
in."
Thanks to the abundance of tow this was not difficult, and soon the
children were cuddled in each other's arms, feeling warmer than they had
felt for many a night past. It was a long time, however, before they
could get to sleep. To Nelly especially was it strange. And thoughts too
deep for them to express kept crowding into their minds, keeping them
wide awake.
At length, however, a feeling of drowsiness began to creep over them,
and they were just dropping off to sleep when they were startled by a
footstep near them, and a hoarse voice muttering, as if in anguish, "O
Death, what dost thou mean?"
For a moment the children clutched each other in terror; then they heard
the footsteps dying away in the distance, and their confidence returned
again.
"Who could it be?" said Nelly.
"A bobby, I 'specks," said Benny; "but he ain't catched us, so we's safe
'nough now."
For awhile after they lay listening, but no other footsteps disturbed
them, and soon balmy sleep stole over them, sealing their eyelids, and
giving rest to their weary little heads and hearts.