his chair, takes the book, throws it at me, or boxes my ears with it,
and turns me out of the room by the shoulders.
My only pleasure was to go up into a little room at the top of the house
where I had found a number of books that had belonged to my own father,
and I would sit and read Robinson Crusoe, and many tales of travels and
adventures, and I imagined myself to be sometimes one and sometimes
another hero, and went about for days with the centre-piece out of an
old set of boot-trees, pretending to be a captain in the British Royal
Navy.
One morning when I went into the parlor with my books, I found my mother
looking anxious, Miss Murdstone looking firm, and Mr. Murdstone binding
something round the bottom of a cane--a lithe and limber cane, which he
left off binding when I came in, and poised and switched in the air.
"I tell you, Clara," said Mr. Murdstone, "I have often been flogged
myself."
"To be sure; of course," said Miss Murdstone.
"Certainly, my dear Jane," faltered my mother, meekly. "But--but do you
think it did Edward good?"
"Do you think it did Edward harm, Clara?" asked Mr. Murdstone, gravely.
"That's the point!" said his sister.
To this my mother returned, "Certainly, my dear Jane," and said no more.
I felt afraid that all this had something to do with myself, and sought
Mr. Murdstone's eye as it lighted on mine.
"Now, David," he said--and I saw that cast again, as he said it--"you
must be far more careful to-day than usual." He gave the cane another
poise and another switch; and having finished his preparation of it,
laid it down beside him, with an expressive look, and took up his book.
This was a good freshener to my memory, as a beginning. I felt the words
of my lessons slipping off, not one by one, or line by line, but by the
entire page. I tried to lay hold of them; but they seemed, if I may so
express it, to have put skates on, and to skim away from me with a
smoothness there was no checking.
We began badly, and went on worse. I had come in with an idea of doing
better than usual, thinking that I was very well prepared; but it turned
out to be quite a mistake. Book after book was added to the heap of
failures, Miss Murdstone being firmly watchful of us all the time. And
when we came at last to a question about five thousand cheeses (canes he
made it that day, I remember), my mother burst out crying.
"Clara!" said Miss Murdstone, in her warning voice.
"I am not quite well, my dear Jane, I think," said my mother.
I saw him wink, solemnly, at his sister, as he rose and said, taking up
the cane:
"Why, Jane, we can hardly expect Clara to bear, with perfect firmness,
the worry and torment that David has caused her to-day. Clara is greatly
strengthened and improved; but we can hardly expect so much from her.
David, you and I will go up-stairs, boy."
As he took me out at the door, my mother ran towards us. Miss Murdstone
said, "Clara! are you a perfect fool?" and interfered. I saw my mother
stop her ears then, and I heard her crying.
He walked me up to my room slowly and gravely--I am certain he had a
delight in that formal show of doing justice--and when we got there,
suddenly twisted my head under his arm.
"Mr. Murdstone! Sir!" I cried to him. "Don't! Pray don't beat me! I have
tried to learn, sir, but I can't learn while you and Miss Murdstone are
by. I can't indeed!"
"Can't you, indeed, David?" he said. "We'll try that."
He had my head as in a vise, but I twined round him somehow, and stopped
him for a moment, entreating him not to beat me. It was only for a
moment that I stopped him, for he cut me heavily an instant afterwards,
and in the same instant I caught the hand with which he held me in my
mouth, between my teeth, and bit it through. It sets my teeth on edge to
think of it.
He beat me then, as if he would have beaten me to death. Above all the
noise we made, I heard them running up the stairs, and crying out--I
heard my mother crying out--and Peggotty. Then he was gone; and the door
was locked outside; and I was lying, fevered, and hot, and torn, and
raging in my puny way, upon the floor.
How well I recollect, when I became quiet, what an unnatural stillness
seemed to reign through the whole house! How well I remember, when my
smart and passion began to cool, how wicked I began to feel!
I sat listening for a long while, but there was not a sound. I crawled
up from the floor, and saw my face in the glass, so swollen, red, and
ugly that it almost frightened me. My stripes were sore and stiff, and
made me cry afresh, when I moved; but they were nothing to the guilt I
felt. It lay heavier on my breast than if I had been a most terrible
criminal, I dare say, and the longer I thought of it the greater the
offense seemed.
It had begun to grow dark, and I had shut the window (I had been lying,
for the most part, with my head upon the sill, by turns crying, dozing,
and looking listlessly out), when the key was turned, and Miss Murdstone
came in with some bread and meat and milk. These she put down upon the
table without a word, glaring at me the while and then retired, locking
the door after her.
I never shall forget the waking next morning; the being cheerful and
fresh for the first moment, and then the being weighed down by the stale
and dismal oppression of remembrance. Miss Murdstone came again before
I was out of bed; told me, in so many words, that I was free to walk in
the garden for half an hour and no longer; retired, leaving the door
open, that I might avail myself of that permission.
I did so, and did so every morning of my imprisonment, which lasted five
days. If I could have seen my mother alone, I should have gone down on
my knees to her and besought her forgiveness; but I saw no one, Miss
Murdstone excepted, during the whole time.
The length of those five days I can convey no idea of to anyone. They
occupy the place of years in my remembrance.
On the last night of my restraint, I was awakened by hearing my own name
spoken in a whisper. I started up in bed, and, putting out my arms in
the dark, said:
"Is that you, Peggotty?"
There was no immediate answer, but presently I heard my name again, in a
tone so very mysterious and awful, that I think I should have gone into
a fit, if it had not occurred to me that it must have come through the
keyhole.
I groped my way to the door, and, putting my own lips to the keyhole,
whispered:
"Is that you, Peggotty, dear?"
"Yes, my own precious Davy," she replied. "Be as soft as a mouse, or the
cat'll hear us."
I understood this to mean Miss Murdstone, and knew that we must be
careful and quiet; her room being close by.
"How's mamma, dear Peggotty? Is she very angry with me?"
I could hear Peggotty crying softly on her side of the keyhole, as I was
doing on mine, before she answered. "No. Not very."
"What is going to be done with me, Peggotty, dear? Do you know?"
"School. Near London," was Peggotty's answer. I was obliged to get her
to repeat it, for she spoke it the first time quite down my throat in
consequence of my having forgotten to take my mouth away from the
keyhole and put my ear there; and, though her words tickled me a good
deal, I didn't hear them.
"When, Peggotty?"
"To-morrow."
"Is that the reason why Miss Murdstone took the clothes out of my
drawers?" which she had done, though I have forgotten to mention it.
"Yes," said Peggotty. "Box."
"Shan't I see mamma?"
"Yes," said Peggotty. "Morning."
Then Peggotty fitted her mouth close to the keyhole, and spoke these
words through it with as much feeling and earnestness as a keyhole has
ever been the means of communicating, I will venture to say, shooting in
each broken little sentence in a convulsive little burst of its own.
"Davy, dear. If I ain't been azackly as intimate with you. Lately, as I
used to be. It ain't because I don't love you. Just as well and more, my
pretty poppet. It's because I thought it better for you. And for someone
else besides. Davy, my darling, are you listening? Can you hear?"
"Ye--ye--ye--yes, Peggotty!" I sobbed.
"My own!" said Peggotty, with infinite compassion. "What I want to say,
is. That you must never forget me. For I'll never forget you. And I'll
take as much care of your mamma, Davy. As I ever took of you. And I
won't leave her. The day may come when she'll be glad to lay her poor
head. On her stupid, cross old Peggotty's arm again. And I'll write to
you, my dear. Though I ain't no scholar. And I'll--I'll--" Peggotty fell
to kissing the keyhole, as she couldn't kiss me.
"Thank you, dear Peggotty!" said I. "Oh, thank you! Thank you! Will you
promise me one thing, Peggotty? Will you write and tell Mr. Peggotty
and little Em'ly and Mrs. Gummidge and Ham that I am not so bad as they
might suppose, and that I sent 'em all my love--especially to little
Em'ly? Will you, if you please, Peggotty?"
The kind soul promised, and we both of us kissed the keyhole with the
greatest affection--I patted it with my hand, I recollect, as if it had
been her honest face--and parted.
In the morning Miss Murdstone appeared as usual, and told me I was going
to school; which was not altogether such news to me as she supposed. She
also informed me that when I was dressed, I was to come down-stairs into
the parlor and have my breakfast. There I found my mother, very pale and
with red eyes; into whose arms I ran, and begged her pardon from my
suffering soul.
"Oh, Davy!" she said. "That you could hurt anyone I love! Try to be
better, pray to be better! I forgive you; but I am so grieved, Davy,
that you should have such bad passions in your heart."
Miss Murdstone was good enough to take me out to the cart, and to say on
the way that she hoped I would repent, before I came to a bad end; and
then I got into the cart, and the lazy horse walked off with it.
We might have gone about half a mile, and my pocket handkerchief was
quite wet through, when the carrier stopped short.
Looking out to ascertain for what, I saw, to my amazement, Peggotty
burst from a hedge and climb into the cart. She took me in both her arms
and squeezed me until the pressure on my nose was extremely painful,
though I never thought of that till afterwards, when I found it very
tender. Not a single word did Peggotty speak, releasing one of her arms,
she put it down in her pocket to the elbow, and brought out some
paper-bags of cakes, which she crammed into my pockets, and a purse
which she put into my hand, but not one word did she say. After another
and a final squeeze with both arms, she got down from the cart and ran
away; and my belief is, and has always been, without a solitary button
on her gown. I picked up one, of several that was rolling about, and
treasured it as a keepsake for a long time.
The carrier looked at me, as if to inquire if she were coming back. I
shook my head, and said I thought not. "Then come up!" said the carrier
to the lazy horse, who came up accordingly.
Having by this time cried as much as I possibly could, I began to think
it was of no use crying any more. The carrier seeing me in this
resolution, proposed that my pocket handkerchief should be spread upon
the horse's back to dry. I thanked him and agreed; and particularly
small it looked under those circumstances.
I had now time to examine the purse. It was a stiff leather purse, with
a snap, and had three bright shillings in it, which Peggotty had
evidently polished up with whitening, for my greater delight. But its
precious contents were two half-crowns folded together in a bit of
paper, on which was written, in my mother's hand, "For Davy. With my
love." I was so overcome by this, that I asked the carrier to be so good
as reach me my pocket handkerchief again, but he said he thought I had
better do without it; and I thought I really had; so I wiped my eyes on
my sleeve and stopped myself.
For good, too; though, in consequence of my previous feelings, I was
still occasionally seized with a stormy sob. After we had jogged on for
some little time, I asked the carrier if he was going all the way.
"All the way where?" inquired the carrier.
"There," I said.
"Where's there?" inquired the carrier.
"Near London," I said.
"Why, that horse," said the carrier, jerking the rein to point him out,
"would be deader than pork afore he got over half the ground."
"Are you only going to Yarmouth then?" I asked.
"That's about it," said the carrier. "And there I shall take you to the
stage-cutch, and the stage-cutch that'll take you to--wherever it is."
I shared my cakes with the carrier, who asked if Peggotty made them, and
told him yes, she did all our cooking. The carrier looked thoughtful,
and then asked if I would send a message to Peggotty from him. I agreed,
and the message was "Barkis is willing." While I was waiting for the
coach at Yarmouth, I wrote to Peggotty:
"MY DEAR PEGGOTTY:--I have come here safe. Barkis is willing. My love to
mamma. Yours affectionately.
"_P.S._--He says he particularly wanted you to know _Barkis is
willing_."
At Yarmouth I found dinner was ordered for me, and felt very shy at
having a table all to myself, and very much alarmed when the waiter told
me he had seen a gentleman fall down dead after drinking some of their
beer. I said I would have some water, and was quite grateful to the
waiter for drinking the ale that had been ordered for me, for fear the
people of the hotel should be offended. He also helped me to eat my
dinner, and accepted one of my bright shillings.
After a long, tiring journey by the coach, for there were no trains in
those days, I arrived in London and was taken to the school at
Blackheath, by one of the masters, Mr. Mell.
I gazed upon the schoolroom into which he took me, as the most forlorn
and desolate place I had ever seen. I see it now. A long room, with
three long rows of desks, and six of long seats, bristling all round
with pegs for hats and slates. Scraps of old copy-books and exercises
litter the dirty floor.
Mr. Mell having left me for a few moments, I went softly to the upper
end of the room, observing all this as I crept along. Suddenly I came
upon a pasteboard placard, beautifully written which was lying on the
desk, and bore these words--"_Take care of him._ _He bites._"
I got upon the desk immediately, afraid of at least a great dog
underneath. But, though I looked all round with anxious eyes, I could
see nothing of him. I was still engaged in peering about when Mr. Mell
came back, and asked me what I did up there.
"I beg your pardon, sir," says I, "if you please, I'm looking for the
dog."
"Dog?" says he. "What dog?"
"Isn't it a dog, sir?"
"Isn't what a dog?"
"That's to be taken care of, sir; that bites."
"No, Copperfield," says he, gravely, "that's not a dog. That's a boy. My
instructions are, Copperfield, to put this placard on your back. I am
sorry to make such a beginning with you, but I must do it."
With that, he took me down, and tied the placard, which was neatly
constructed for the purpose, on my shoulders like a knapsack; and
wherever I went, afterwards, I had the consolation of carrying it.
What I suffered from that placard, nobody can imagine. Whether it was
possible for people to see me or not, I always fancied that somebody was
reading it. It was no relief to turn round and find nobody; for wherever
my back was, there I imagined somebody always to be.
There was an old door in this playground, on which the boys had a custom
of carving their names. It was completely covered with such
inscriptions. In my dread of the end of the vacation and their coming
back, I could not read one boy's name, without inquiring in what tone
and with what emphasis _he_ would read, "Take care of him. He bites."
There was one boy--a certain J. Steerforth--who cut his name very deep
and very often, who, I conceived, would read it in a rather strong
voice, and afterwards pull my hair. There was another boy, one Tommy
Traddles, who I dreaded would make game of it, and pretend to be
dreadfully frightened of me. There was a third, George Demple, who I
fancied would sing it. I have looked, a little shrinking creature, at
that door, until the owners of all the names--there were five-and-forty
of them in the school then, Mr. Mell said--seemed to cry out, each in
his own way, "Take care of him. He bites!"
Tommy Traddles was the first boy who returned. He introduced himself by
informing me that I should find his name on the right-hand corner of the
gate, over the top bolt; upon that I said, "Traddles?" to which he
replied, "The same," and then he asked me for a full account of myself
and family.
It was fortunate for me that Traddles came back first. He enjoyed my
placard so much that he saved me from the embarrassment of either
telling about it or trying to hide it by presenting me to every other
boy who came back, great or small, immediately on his arrival, in this
form of introduction, "Look here! Here's a game!" Happily, too, the
greater part of the boys came back low-spirited, and were not so
boisterous at my expense as I had expected. Some of them certainly could
not resist the temptation of pretending that I was a dog, and patting
and smoothing me lest I should bite, and saying, "Lie down, sir!" and
calling me Towzer. This was naturally confusing, among so many
strangers, and cost some tears, but on the whole it was much better than
I had anticipated.
I was not considered as being formally received into the school,
however, until J. Steerforth arrived. Before this boy, who was reputed
to be a great scholar, and was very good-looking, and at least
half-a-dozen years older than I, I was carried as before a judge. He
inquired, under a shed in the playground, into the particulars of my
punishment, and was pleased to express his opinion that it was a "jolly
shame;" for which I became bound to him ever afterwards.
"What money have you got, Copperfield?" he said, walking aside with me
when he had disposed of my affair in these terms.
I told him seven shillings.
"You had better give it to me to take care of," he said. "At least, you
can, if you like. You needn't if you don't like."
I hastened to comply with his friendly suggestion, and, opening
Peggotty's purse, turned it upside down into his hand.
"Do you want to spend anything now?" he asked me.
"No, thank you," I replied.
"You can, if you like, you know," said Steerforth. "Say the word."
"No, thank you, sir," I repeated.
"Perhaps you'd like to spend a couple of shillings or so in a bottle of
currant wine by-and-by, up in the bedroom?" said Steerforth. "You belong
to my bedroom, I find."
It certainly had not occurred to me before, but I said, Yes, I should
like that.
"Very good," said Steerforth. "You'll be glad to spend another shilling
or so in almond cakes, I dare say?"
I said, "Yes, I should like that, too."
"And another shilling or so in biscuits, and another in fruit, eh?" said
Steerforth. "I say, young Copperfield, you're going it!"
I smiled because he smiled, but I was a little troubled in my mind, too.
"Well!" said Steerforth. "We must make it stretch as far as we can;
that's all. I'll do the best in my power for you. I can go out when I
like, and I'll smuggle the prog in." With these words he put the money
in his pocket, and kindly told me not to make myself uneasy; he would
take care it should be all right.
He was as good as his word, if that were all right which I had a secret
misgiving was nearly all wrong--for I feared it was a waste of my
mother's two half-crowns--though I had preserved the piece of paper they
were wrapped in; which was a precious saving. When we went up-stairs to
bed, he produced the whole seven shillings worth, and laid it out on my
bed in the moonlight, saying:
"There you are, young Copperfield, and a royal spread you've got!"
I couldn't think of doing the honors of the feast at my time of life,
while he was by; my hand shook at the very thought of it. I begged him
to do me the favor of taking charge of the treat; and my request being
seconded by the other boys who were in that room, he agreed to it, and
sat upon my pillow, handing round the food--with perfect fairness, I
must say--and giving out the currant wine in a little glass without a
foot, which was his own property. As to me, I sat on his left hand, and
the rest were grouped about us, on the nearest beds and on the floor.
How well I recollect our sitting there, talking in whispers; or their
talking, and my respectfully listening, I ought rather to say; the
moonlight falling a little way into the room, through the window,
painting a pale window on the floor, and the greater part of us in
shadow, except when Steerforth scratched a match, when he wanted to look
for anything on the board, and shed a blue glare over us that was gone
directly! A certain mysterious feeling, consequent on the darkness, the
secrecy of the revel, and the whisper in which everything was said,
steals over me again, and I listen to all they tell me, with a vague
feeling of solemnity and awe, which makes me glad they are all so near,
and frightens me (though I feign to laugh) when Traddles pretends to see
a ghost in the corner.
I heard all kinds of things about the school and all belonging to it. I
heard that Mr. Creakle was the sternest and most severe of masters; that
he laid about him, right and left, every day of his life, charging in
among the boys like a trooper, and slashing away, unmercifully.
I heard that the man with the wooden leg, whose name was Tungay, was an
obstinate fellow who had formerly been in the hop business, but had
come into the line with Mr. Creakle, in consequence, as was supposed
among the boys, of his having broken his leg in Mr. Creakle's service,
and having done a deal of dishonest work for him, and knowing his
secrets.
But the greatest wonder that I heard of Mr. Creakle was, there being one
boy in the school on whom he never ventured to lay a hand, and that that
boy being J. Steerforth. Steerforth himself confirmed this when it was
stated, and said that he should like to begin to see him do it. On being
asked by a mild boy (not me) how he would proceed if he did begin to see
him do it, he scratched a match on purpose to shed a glare over his
reply, and said he would commence with knocking him down with a blow on
the forehead from the seven-and-six-penny ink-bottle that was always on
the mantelpiece. We sat in the dark for some time, breathless.
I heard that Miss Creakle was regarded by the school in general as being
in love with Steerforth; and I am sure, as I sat in the dark, thinking
of his nice voice, and his fine face, and his easy manner, and his
curling hair, I thought it very likely. I heard that Mr. Mell was not a
bad sort of fellow, but hadn't a sixpence to bless himself with; and
that there was no doubt that old Mrs. Mell, his mother, was as poor as
Job.
One day, Traddles (the most unfortunate boy in the world) breaks a
window accidentally with a ball. I shudder at this moment with the
tremendous sensation of seeing it done, and feeling that the ball has
bounded on to Mr. Creakle's sacred head.
Poor Traddles! In a tight sky-blue suit that made his arms and legs like
German sausages, or roly-poly puddings, he was the merriest and most
miserable of all the boys. He was always being caned--I think he was
caned every day that half-year, except one holiday Monday, when he was
only rulered on both hands--and was always going to write to his uncle
about it, and never did. After laying his head on the desk for a little
while, he would cheer up somehow, begin to laugh again, and draw
skeletons all over his slate before his eyes were dry. I used at first
to wonder what comfort Traddles found in drawing skeletons. But I
believe he only did it because they were easy, and didn't want any
features.
He was very honorable, Traddles was; and held it as a solemn duty in the
boys to stand by one another. He suffered for this on several occasions;
and particularly once, when Steerforth laughed in church, and the
beadle thought it was Traddles, and took him out. I see him now, going
away under guard, despised by the congregation. He never said who was
the real offender, though he smarted for it next day, and was imprisoned
so many hours that he came forth with a whole churchyard full of
skeletons swarming all over his Latin Dictionary. But he had his reward.
Steerforth said there was nothing of the sneak in Traddles, and we all
felt that to be the highest praise. For my part, I could have gone
through a great deal (though I was much less brave than Traddles, and
nothing like so old) to have won such a reward, as praise from J.
Steerforth.