THE ACTOR AND HIS DAUGHTER.
THAT night, as Joshua was lying half-awake and half-asleep, his mind
being filled with pleasant sea-pictures, he was surprised to hear his
bedroom-door creak. Without moving in his bed, he turned his eyes
towards the door, and, in the indistinct light, he saw his mother
enter the room. She opened the door very softly, as if fearful of
disturbing him, and she paused for a moment or two in the open space,
with her hand raised in a listening attitude. Joshua saw that she
believed him to be asleep, and he closed his eyes as she approached
the bed. Her movements were so quiet, that he did not know she was
close to him, until she gently took his hand and placed it to her
lips. Then he knew that she was kneeling by his bedside, and knew
also, by a moisture on his hand, that she was crying. His heart
yearned to her, but he did not move. He heard her whisper, "God
protect you, my son!" Then his hand, wet with his mother's tears, was
released, and when he re-opened his eyes, she was gone.
"Poor mother!" he thought. "She is unhappy because I am going to sea.
I will ask the Old Sailor to come and tell her what a glorious thing
the sea is. Perhaps that will make her more comfortable in her mind."
He acted upon his resolution the very next day, and his efforts were
successful. In the evening, he wended his way homewards from the
waterside, in a state of ineffable satisfaction because the Old Sailor
had promised to come to Stepney, for the express purpose of proving to
Mrs. Marvel how superior in every respect the sea was to the land, and
what a wise thing Joshua had done in making up his mind to be a
sailor.
The lad was in an idle happy humor as he walked down a narrow street,
at no great distance from his home. It differed in no respect from the
other common streets in the common neighborhood. All its
characteristics were familiar to him. The sad-looking one-story brick
houses; the slatternly girls nursing babies, whose name was legion;
the troops of children of various ages and in various stages of
dirtiness, one of their most distinguishing insignia being the yawning
condition of their boots, there not being a sound boot-lace among the
lot of them; and here and there the melancholy and desponding shops
where sweet stuff and cheap provisions were sold. Joshua walked down
this poor woe-begone street, making it bright with his bright fancies,
when his attention was suddenly aroused by the occurrence of something
unusual near the bottom of the street.
A large crowd of boys and girls and women was gathered around a
person, who was gesticulating and declaiming with startling
earnestness. Pushing his way through the throng, Joshua saw before him
a tall, spare man, with light hair hanging down to his shoulders. So
long and waving was his hair, that it might have belonged to a woman.
His gaunt and furrowed face was as smooth as a woman's, and his mouth
was large, as were also his teeth, which were peculiarly white and
strong. But what most arrested attention were his eyes; they were of a
light-gray color, large even for his large face, and they had a
wandering look in them strangely at variance with the sense of power
and firmness that dwelt in every other feature. He was acting the
Ghost scenes in "Hamlet;" in his hand was a wooden sword, which he
sheathed in his ragged coat, and drew and flourished when occasion
needed. His fine voice, now deep as a man's, now tender as a woman's,
expressed all the passions, and expressed them well. In the library
which Dan and Joshua possessed there was an odd volume of Shakspeare's
works, and when the street-actor said, in a melancholy dreamy tone,--
"It waves me still:--go on, I'll follow thee,"
Joshua remembered (as much from the intelligent action of the actor as
from the words themselves) that it was a Ghost whom Hamlet was
addressing. The words were so impressively spoken, that Joshua almost
fancied he saw a Shade before the man's uplifted hand. Then, when
Hamlet cried,--
"My fate cries out,
And makes each petty artery in this body
As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve.
Still am I called. Unhand me, gentlemen!"
(struggling with his visionary opponents and breaking from them, and
drawing his wooden sword)
"By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me!
I say, away! Go on, I'll follow thee;"
Joshua experienced a thrill of emotion that only the representation of
true passion could have excited. As the man uttered the last words,
Joshua heard a shuddering sigh close to him. Turning his head, he saw
Susan, whose face was a perfect encyclopædia of wondering and
terrified admiration.
"Who is he following, Joshua?" she asked in a whisper, clutching him
by the sleeve.
"The Ghost! Hush!"
"The Ghost!" (with a violent shudder.) "Where?"
Joshua pressed her hand, and warned her to be silent, so as not to
disturb the man. Susan held his hand tightly in hers, and obeyed.
The Ghost that the actor saw in his mind's eye was standing behind
Susan. The man advanced a step in that direction, and stood with
outstretched sword, gazing at the airy nothing. Susan trembled in
every limb as the man glared over her shoulder, and she was frightened
to move her head, lest she should see the awful vision whose presence
was palpable to her senses. The man had commenced the platform-scene,
where Hamlet says, "Speak; I'll go no further;" and the Ghost says,
"Mark me!" when a tumult took place. At the words, "Mark me!" a
vicious boy picked up a piece of mud, and threw it at the man's face,
with the words, "Now you're marked;" at which several of the boys and
girls laughed and clapped their hands. The actor made no answer, but,
seizing the boy by the shoulder held him fast and proceeded with the
scene. The boy tried to wriggle himself away, but at every fresh
attempt the man's grasp tightened, until, thoroughly desperate, the
boy broke into open rebellion.
_Actor_. Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand
Of life, of crown, of queen, at once despatched.
_Boy_ (_struggling violently_). Just you let me go, will you?
_Actor_. Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin,
Unhousel'd, disappointed, unaneal'd.
_Boy_ (_beginning to cry_). Come now, let me go will you? You're a
hurting of me! Let me go you--(_bad words_).
_Actor_ (_calm and indifferent_). No reckoning made, but sent to my
account
With all my imperfections on my head.
_A girl's voice_. Pinch him, Billy!
_A boy's voice_. Kick him, Billy!
Billy did both, but the actor continued.
_Actor_. Oh, horrible! Oh, horrible! Most horrible!
_Billy_. Throw a stone at him, some one!
_Actor_ (_sublimely unconscious_). If thou hast nature in thee, bear
it not.
A stone was thrown; and as if this were a signal for a general attack,
a shower of stones was hurled at the actor. One of them hit him on the
forehead; hit him so badly that he staggered, and, releasing his hold
of Billy, raised his hand to his head, while an expression of pain
passed into his face. Hooting and yelling, "Look at the mad actor!"
"Hoo, hoo! look at the crazy fool!"--the crowd of boys and girls
scampered away, and left the man standing in the road, with only Susan
and Joshua for an audience. Joshua was hot with indignation, and
Susan, spell-bound by awe and fear, stood motionless by Joshua's side,
while large tears trickled from her eyes into her open mouth.
The blood was oozing from the wound in the man's forehead, and his
long fair hair was crimson-stained. His eyes wandered around
distressfully, and a sighing moan died upon his lips. The fire of
enthusiasm had fled from his countenance, and in the place of the
inspired actor, Joshua saw a man whose face was of a deathly hue, and
from whose eyes the light seemed to have departed. With his hand
pressed to his forehead, he staggered a dozen yards, and then leaned
against the wall for support.
"He is badly hurt, I am afraid," said Joshua.
Susan walked swiftly up to the man.
"Shall we assist you home?" she said. "Home!" he muttered. "No, no!
Money! want money!"
As he spoke he drooped, and would have fallen to the ground but for
Joshua, who caught the man on his shoulder, and let him glide gently
on to a doorstep. Susan wiped the blood from his face with her apron.
He looked at her vacantly, closed his eyes, and fainted.
"He is dying, Joshua!" cried Susan, her trembling fingers wandering
about the man's face. "Oh, the wicked boys! Oh, the wicked boys!"
A woman here came out of a house with a cup of cold water, which she
sprinkled upon his face. Presently the man sighed, and struggled to
his feet, murmuring, "Yes, yes; I must go home."
"Where do you live?" asked Joshua. "We will assist you."
He did not answer, but walked slowly on like one in a dream. Assisting
but not guiding his steps, Joshua and Susan walked on either side of
him, and supported him. Although he scarcely seemed to be awake, he
knew his way, and turning down a street even commoner than its
fellows, he stopped at the entrance to a miserable court. Waving his
hand as if dismissing them, he walked a few steps down the court, and
entered a house, the door of which was open. Impelled partly by
curiosity, but chiefly by compassion, Joshua and Susan followed the
man into a dark passage, and up a rheumatic flight of stairs, into a
room where want and wretchedness made grim holiday.
"Minnie!" he muttered hoarsely, and all his strength seemed to desert
him as he spoke--"Minnie, child! where are you?"
He sank upon the ground with a wild shudder, and lay as if death had
overtaken him. At the same moment there issued from the corner of the
room where the deepest shadows gathered, a child-girl, so marvellously
like him, with her fair waving hair, her large beautifully-shaped
mouth, her white teeth, and her great restless gray eyes, that Joshua
knew at once that they were father and daughter.
Minnie crept to the man, and sat beside him. She spoke to him, but he
did not reply. And then she looked at Joshua and Susan, whose forms
were dimly discernible in the gathering gloom.
"What is the matter with father?" she asked of them in a faint moaning
voice.
"Some bad boys threw a stone at him, and hit him on the forehead,"
Joshua answered. "He will be better presently, I hope."
Minnie did not heed what he said, but felt eagerly in her father's
pockets, and, not finding what she searched for, began to cry.
"No, no," she said, beating her hands together; "it is not that. He is
weak and ill because he has had nothing to eat. I thought he would
have brought home enough to buy some bread, but he hasn't a penny."
Joshua remembered the man's words, "Money! I want money!" and he
immediately realized that the poor creatures were in want.
"Are you hungry, Minnie?" he asked.
"I have not had any breakfast," she answered wearily. "No more has
father. Nor any dinner. We had some bread last night. We ate it all
up. Father went out to-day, hoping to earn a little money, and he has
come home without any. We shall die, I suppose. But I should like
something to eat first."
"How do you know he has had nothing to eat?" asked Joshua; the words
almost choked him.
Minnie looked up with a plaintive smile.
"If he had had only a hard piece of bread given him," she said in a
tender voice, "he would have put it into his pocket for me."
"Stop here, Susan," said Joshua, a great sob rising in his throat. "I
will be back in ten minutes."
He ran out of the room and out of the house. Never in his life had he
run so fast as he ran now. He rushed into Dan's room, and said, almost
breathlessly,--
"Where is the money-box, Dan? How much is there in it?"
"Fourteen pence," said the faithful treasurer, producing the box.
"What a heat you are in, Jo!"
"Never mind that. I want every farthing of the money, Dan. Don't ask
me any questions. I will tell you all by and by."
Dan emptied the money-box upon the table, and Joshua seized the money,
and tore out of the house as if for dear life. Soon he was in the
actor's room again, with bread and tea. Susan had not been idle during
his absence. She had bathed the man's wound, and had wiped the blood
and mud from his face and hair. He had recovered from his swoon, and
was looking at her gratefully.
Joshua placed the bread before him, and he broke a piece from the loaf
and gave it to Minnie, who ate it greedily.
"So fair and foul a day I have not seen,'" the man muttered; and both
Joshua and Susan thought, "How strangely yet how beautifully he
speaks!"
Susan made the tea down stairs, and she and Joshua sat quietly by,
while the man and his daughter ate like starved wolves. It was a
bitterly-painful sight to see.
"I think we had better go now, Susan," whispered Joshua.
They would have left the room without a word; but the man said,--
"What is your name, and what are you?"
"My name is Joshua Marvel, and I'm going to be a sailor."
"'There's a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft,'" said the actor,
"'to keep watch for the life of poor Jack.'"
"That's what Praiseworthy Meddler says," said Joshua, laughing. "I
shall come and see you again, if you will let me."
"Come and welcome."
"Goodnight, sir."
"Goodnight, and God bless you, Joshua Marvel!"
Minnie went to the door with Joshua and Susan, and looking at Joshua,
with the tears in her strangely-beautiful eyes, said,
"Goodnight, and God bless you, Joshua Marvel!"
She raised herself on tiptoe, and Joshua stooped and kissed her. After
that, Susan gave her a hug, and she returned to her father, and lay
down beside him.
When he arrived home, Joshua told Dan of the adventure, and how he had
spent the fourteen pence. Dan nodded his head approvingly.
"You did right," he said,--"you always do. I should have done just the
same."
Then they took the odd volume of Shakspeare from the shelf, and read
the Ghost scenes in "Hamlet" before they said goodnight.