_A Friend in Need_
WHEN I returned to my Reason, it was with an inexpressible Sense of Weakness
and Weariness. The first Thing I saw was dear _Violet’s_ Face close to
mine, her large, dark Eyes fixed full upon me; and as soon as she saw
that I knew her, she exclaims, “_Cherry_, dear _Cherry_! I thought I had
no more Tears left to shed, but I must cry again with Pleasure now—” and
wept over me.
I said, “Is he come back yet?” She said, “You must only think of getting
well now.”
“Ah,” I said, “I know he is not,” and turned my Head away, and still
felt her warm Tears dropping over me. They seemed to heal where they
fell; and presently, I shed Tears too, which cleared my Head, and
somewhat relieved me; but oh! the Weakness!—
I was very slow getting well. All the While, dear _Violet_ kept with me,
read to me, cheered me, cherished me ... oh, what a Friend! How Trouble
brings out the real Good in People’s Characters, if there be any!
Before I was well able to sit up, Master _Benskin_ sent in Word he had
Something important to say to me as soon as I was equal to hearing it. I
thought he might have got some Clue to my Father, and said I was quite
equal to hearing Anything he had to tell. Then he came in, treading on
Tip-toe, and looking very awe-stricken; and, says he, “Mistress
_Cherry_,”—taking a Chair as he spoke, a good Way off from me,—“the
lamented Event which we may now consider to have taken place....”
“No, Master _Benskin_, no,” interrupted I, faintly; “I still hope there
has been _no_ lamented Event——”
“Makes it my Duty,” continued he, without minding me, “to tell you that
you need be under no Uneasiness about pecuniary Circumstances.”
“I am not, I assure you,” said I. “Oh that I had nothing worse to be
uneasy about!”
“This House,” continued he, “was your Father’s for ninety-nine Years,
and is now yours; and he moreover had saved six hundred Pounds, three
hundred of which he lent me, and three hundred _Hugh Braidfoot_, we
paying him five per Cent., which we will continue to pay you, or hand
over to you the Principal, whichever you like.”
“Thank you, Master _Benskin_,” said I; “I should wish Everything to
continue just as it is.... I am sure my Father’s Money can’t be in
better Hands; and I shall recommence inquiring for him directly I am
strong enough, which I almost am already.”
“Ah,” said he, with a sorrowful Smile and a Shake of the Head, “how slow
Women are to give up Hope!... Sure enough, ’tis one of the cardinal
Virtues; but they practise it as if ’twere their Nature, without making
a Merit of it. I wish you well from my Heart, Miss _Cherry_.”
All this While I was fretting to see Master _Blower_. I said often to
_Violet_, “I wish Master _Blower_ would look in to see me, and talk to
me and pray with me as he used to do with my Mother. Sure, I’m sick
enow! and he might, for as long as he has known me, count me the same as
one of his own Congregation.”
And _Violet_ would make Answer, “Indeed, _Cherry_, if you consider how
the good Man is wearing himself out among his own Flock, going hither
and thither without setting his Life at a Pin’s Purchase, spending all
his Time in Visitation that is not taken up with the Services of the
Church, you need not be surprised he comes not so far as this,
especially as he knows not of your Affliction nor your Illness.”
“How do you, that are not a Church-woman, know he does all you say?”
said I.
“I had it from the old Woman that brings the Curds and Whey,” returned
_Violet_; “she, you know, is one of his Parishioners; and, from what she
says of him, it appears he could not do more if he were a Dissenter.”
“A Dissenter, indeed! I admire that!” said I. “If he were a slothful,
timid, self-indulgent Person, you would bestow all his Faults on his
Church; but because his Light shines before Men, so that they cannot
help glorifying his Father which is in Heaven, you say he could hardly
do more if he were a Dissenter!—I shall go to him as soon as ever I get
well.”
And so I did; while, indeed, I was hardly strong enough for so long a
Walk; for I had a Notion he would tell me where to find my Father; or
comfort me, maybe, if he thought he could not be found. It was now late
in _September_.—His Parish was one of the worst in _Whitechapel_,—he
lived in a roomy, gloomy old Parsonage-house, too large for a single
Man, in a Street that was now deserted and grass-grown. The first Thing
I saw was a Watchman asleep on the Steps, which gave me a Pang; for,
having heard Master _Blower_ was so active in his Parish, I somehow had
never reckoned on his being among the Sick, though that was a very just
Reason why he should be. I had thought so good a Man would lead a
charmed Life, forgetful that in this World there is often one Event to
the Righteous and to the Wicked, and that if the Good always escaped, no
Harm would have befallen my Father. However, this sudden Shock, for such
it was, brought Tears into my Eyes, and I began to be at my Wits’ End,
who should tell me now where to find my Father, and to lament over the
Illness of my good and dear Friend, Master _Blower_. Then I bethought
me,—Perhaps he is not in the House, but may have left it in Charge of
some Woman, who is ill,—if I waken the Watchman, he certainly will not
let me in; the Key is grasped firmly in his Hand, so firmly that I dare
not try to take it, but yet I must and will get in.—
Then I observed that, in carelessly locking the Door, the Lock had
overshot it, so that, in Fact, the Door, instead of being locked, would
not even shut. So I stept lightly past the Watchman and into the House;
and the first Thing within the Threshold was a Can of Milk, turned quite
sour, which shewed how long it must have stood without any Body’s being
able to fetch it. I closed the Door softly after me, and went into all
the ground-floor Rooms; they were empty and close shuttered: the Motes
dancing in the Sunbeams that came through the round Holes in the
Shutters. Then I went softly up Stairs, and looked timidly into one or
two Chambers, not knowing what ghastly Sight I might chance upon; but
they were tenantless. As I stood at pause in the Midst of one of them,
which was a Sitting-room, and had one or two Chairs out of their Places,
as if it had been never set to rights since it was last in Occupation, I
was startled by hearing a Man in the Room beyond giving a loud,
prolonged Yawn, as though he were saying, “Ho, ho, ho, ho, hum!” Then
all was silent again: I thought it must be Master _Blower_, and went
forward, but paused, with my Hand on the Lock. Then I thought I heard a
murmuring Voice within; and, softly opening the Door and looking in,
perceived a great four-post Bed with dark green Curtains drawn close all
round it, standing in the Midst of a dark oaken Floor that had not been
bees-waxed recently enough to be slippery. Two or three tall,
straight-backed Chairs stood about; a Hat upon one, a Boot upon another,
quite in the Style of Master _Blower_; and close to the Bed was a Table
with Jugs, Cups, and Phials, and a Night-lamp still burning, though
’twas broad Day. The Shutters also were partially shut, admitting only
one long Stream of slanting Light over-against the Bed; but whether any
one were in the Bed, I could not at first make out, for all was as still
as Death. Presently, however, from within the Curtains came a somewhat
thick Voice, exclaiming, “Oh LORD, my Heart is ready, my Heart is ready!
I will sing and give Praise with the best Member that I have! Awake,
Lute and Harp! I myself will awake right early!”
[Illustration]
Here the dear good Man fell a-coughing, as if Something stuck in his
Throat; and I tip-toeing up to the Bedside, withdrew the Curtains and
softly said, “Master _Blower_!”
Never shall I forget my first Sight of him! There he lay on his Back,
with Everything quite clean and fresh about him, not routed and tumbled
as most Men’s would have been, but as smooth as if just mangled:—his
Head, without e’er a Nightcap, lying straight on his Pillow, his Face
the Mirror of Composedness and Peaceification, and his great, brown
Eyes, glowing with some steady, not feverish Light, turned slowly round
upon me, as if fresh from beholding some beatific, solemnifying Sight.
“Why, _Cherry_,” says he, looking much pleased, “are you come to look on
me before I die? I thought I had taken my last Sight of all below,”—and
reaching out his Hand to me from under the Bedclothes, I was shocked to
perceive how it was wasted: every Knuckle a perfect Knob.
“Don’t touch me!” cries he, plucking it away again, and burying it out
of Sight,—“I forgot you hadn’t had the Plague. What a selfish Fellow I
am!—How’s your dear Father, _Cherry_?”
I could not withhold myself from weeping, and was unable to answer.
“Ah, I see how it is,” says he kindly; “poor _Cherry_! poor _Cherry_!
‘the Righteous perish and no Man layeth it to Heart,’—I heard a Voice
say, ‘Write: Blessed are the Dead which die in the LORD. Yea, saith the
Spirit, for they rest from their Labours.’... I shall see him before you
will, _Cherry_. Go Home, Child, go Home, ... this Air is fraught with
Danger.”
I said, “I am not afraid of it, Sir,—I would rather stay a While with
you.”
“Well, then,” said he, “just give me a Drink of Water, or Anything
liquid you can find; for I have had Nothing but what I could help myself
to, these twenty-four Hours. My Throat is so bad, I cannot swallow
Anything solid.... Oh! Oh!—” And as he held back his Throat to drink, I
noticed the Plague Swellings.
“That will do nicely, now,” sighed he, when I had smoothed his Pillow;
“and now go, I prithee, dear _Cherry_, and look after poor _Dorcas_,
who, I fear, must be dead or dying somewhere about the House.”
So I did as he bade me; and, as I knew she was not on the Floor below, I
went in quest of her up Stairs. _Dorcas_ had lived with Master _Blower_
ever since he commenced Housekeeping; and had had the Help of a younger
Maid, who now, it seemed, had left, or died. She was a Widow-woman in
her third score, eccentric, like her Master, in some Matters; but
withal, of the sweetest, pleasantest Countenance! and of pleasant
Conditions too, so that they were well matched. She preferred being
called Mistress _Peach_; but Master _Blower_ liked calling her _Dorcas_,
and carried his Point.
I found her in the upper Story, lying all across her Bed, dressed, but
more dead than alive. “Alas! young Woman,” says she.... “What! is it
Mistress _Cherry_? Heaven be praised! How is my Master? Doth he live
yet?”
I said, Yes, and I hoped was going on well.
“Ah,” says she, “I left him at Death’s Door, but could no longer keep
about myself; so, set him straight as well as I could, and then crawled
up here, thinking to bundle my Mattress down Stairs, and at all events
die within hearing of him. But ’twas quite beyond my Strength.... I fell
all along, and here I’ve been ever since.”
Then she began to groan terribly, but I made her as comfortable as I
could, dressed her Throat, persuaded her to swallow a little cooling
Drink, and loosened her Clothes; all which she took very thankfully, but
then became restless about her Master, and prayed me to go down to him,
for he wanted me more than she did.
So I returned to Master _Blower_, whom I now found a good deal more
suffering and feverish than when I left him, and beginning to toss
about. I quite gave up all Intention of leaving the House, yet thought
_Violet_ might be uneasy about me; therefore I stepped down to beg the
Watchman to send a Message to her; but found the House-door locked.
On my rapping against it and calling, he unlocked it and looked in.
“Hallo, young Woman,” says he, “how came you here?”
“I stepped in while you were asleep,” said I, “the Door being ajar.”
“Asleep? that’s a pretty Tale to tell of me,” quoth he. “I wonder if
_you_ wouldn’t feel sleepy sometimes, sitting from Morn to Night on a
Door-step, full in the Sun!”
“I want to tell no Tales,” said I, “but only desire to send Word to my
Friends on the _Bridge_ that I cannot return to them at present, being
wanted here.”
“Return? of course you cannot,” says he. “Why, do you suppose Persons
are to be allowed to walk in and out of Houses under Visitation at their
Will? ’Tis clear against my _Lord Mayor’s_ Orders.”
This had escaped me; however, it made no Difference; and he engaged to
let _Violet_ know the Cause of my Detention. Then I returned to my
Charges, and, to my great Surprise, found _Dorcas_ had crawled nearly
all down the Flight of Stairs between her and Master _Blower_, and was
now lying all along. She said, “I thought I must see how Master was ...
if you will but tumble the Mattress down, Mistress _Cherry_, I’ll lie
just within his Door,—then you won’t have to run up and down Stairs so
often.” It did, indeed, make it easier for me to attend to them both;
and truly I never had such a Night before nor since; for though my dear
Mother’s Sufferings had been long drawn out and very sad to witness,
they had never amounted to acute Agony. The Fever of both ran very high
all Night, and it seemed to me that Master _Blower_ in his Deliration
went through the whole Book of _Job_ in his Head, from the disjointed
Fragments he uttered here and there. Also he seemed much argufying with
an impenitent Sinner in his Flock, his Reasonings and tender Persuasives
with whom were enough to have melted a Stone. As to Mistress _Peach_, I
must say her Thoughts ran mostly on her Jams, ... she conceited herself
opening Pot after Pot and finding every one fermented; and kept
exclaiming in a doleful Voice, “Oh dear, here’s another Bishop’s Wig!”
So that, what with being ready to laugh at her, and to cry over him, I
was quite carried out of myself, and away from my own Troubles. Towards
Day-dawn they both became quiet; I fumigated the Room, bathed their
Temples with Vinegar, moistened their Mouths, and then knelt down in a
Corner to pray; after which, I dozed a little. I had heard the
Death-cart going its melancholy Round during the Night; and had felt
thankful we had no Dead to be carried out.
In the Morning, both my Patients seemed bettering. _Dorcas_, with my
Help, got to her Master’s Bedside, and looked in on him. “Dear Sir,”
says she, “how are you now?”
“Somewhat easier, but very thirsty, Mistress _Peach_,” says he.
“Oh dear, Sir,” says she, “don’t call me Mistress _Peach_, or I shall
think you’re going to die. I like _Dorcas_ best now. What a Mercy it
was, Sir, Mistress _Cherry_ came in as she did, for we were both at
Death’s Door. I dare say, Sir, you missed me?”
“How should I do otherwise?” said he, speaking very thick, and with
evident Pain.... “I’ve got a Wasp’s Nest in my Throat, I think.... How
should I do otherwise, I say, when no one came near me for twenty-four
Hours?”
“Ah, Sir,” says she, “I’m sure I beg your Pardon for behaving so
ill,—for _being_ so ill, that is; but indeed I could not help it. I
thought,” continues she, turning to me, “I wouldn’t die, as ’twere, just
under his Nose, so crawled out of Sight; but put Everything near him
that he could want before I took the Liberty of leaving him; and did the
best Thing I could for him at parting, by putting a fine drawing Plaster
round his Throat.... Pray, Sir, did it draw?”
“Draw?” cries he, with the first indignant Flash I ever saw from his
pleasant Eyes ... and ’twas half humourous, too,—“Like a Cart-horse! I
should have been dead Hours ago, you Woman, had I kept it on!”
Sorrowful as I was, I could not help bursting out a-laughing, and he did
so too, when suddenly stopping short and looking very odd,—“I don’t know
whatever has given way in my Throat,” says he, “but verily I think that
Laugh has saved me! Here! give me some Water, or Milk, or Anything to
drink, for I can swallow now.”
So I gave him some Water, and ran down Stairs for some Milk, the
Night-watchman having promised to set some within the Door. When I got
back, there was quite another Expression on his Face; composed and
thankful. _Dorcas_ was shedding Tears as she tended him, quite
thoughtless of herself.
“Now, _Cherry_,” says he, “do persuade this dear Woman to lie down and
take Care of herself, for she has had Faith enough in her famous
Plasters to have put one about her own Throat, and I know what she must
be suffering, or will have to suffer.”
So I gently led her back to her Mattress, and then, sitting down by
Master _Blower_, fed him with some Sponge-cake that was none the worse
for being stale when sopped in Milk, warm from the Cow. He took it with
great Satisfaction, and said he hoped I should not think him greedy when
I remembered how long he had fasted. Then he would not be peaceified
till I went down Stairs and breakfasted by myself: telling me his Mind
to him a Kingdom was, or somewhat to that Effect, which I could
thoroughly believe. When I came back, _Dorcas_ seemed sleeping soundly,
though not very easily. Master _Blower_ had got the same heavenly Look
as when I first saw him. I asked him if there were Anything I could do
for him. He said, Yes, I could read him the fortieth Psalm. When I had
done so, he said, “And now you can read me the hundred and sixteenth.”
That, he said, would do to reflect upon, and I might go my Ways now; he
should want Nothing more for a good While. So I sat down in a great
Arm-chair with a tall Back, wherein, the Chair being mighty comfortable,
and I somewhat o’erwearied with watching, (not being very strong yet,)
or ever I was aware I fell asleep, which certainly was not very good
Nursing nor good Manners.
When I woke up, which may perhaps have been not so soon as it seemed to
me, “Well, Mistress _Cherry_,” says Master _Blower_, somewhat
ironically, “I hope you have had a good Nap. A Penny for your Dream.”
I said it had been a wonderful pleasant one ... too wonderful, I feared,
to come true.
“Well, let’s have it, nevertheless,” says he; “I like hearing wonderful
Dreams sometimes, when I’ve Nothing better to do. So, now for it.”
—When I came to think it over, however, it seemed so different, waking
and sleeping, that I despaired of making it seem to him Anything like
what it had seemed to me.
“Come,” said he, “you’re making a new one.”
“Oh no, Sir!” said I, “I would not do such a Thing on any Account.—My
Dream was this;—only I fear you’ll call it a comical one.... Methought I
was walking with you, Sir, (I beg your Pardon for dreaming of you, which
I should not have done if I had not been nursing of you, I dare say)——”
“Pardon’s granted,” says he. “Go on.”
“I thought, Sir, I was walking with you in a Garden all full of Roses,
Pinks, Crownations, Columbines, Jolly-flowers, Heartsease, and—and....”
“A Kiss behind the Garden-gate,” says he.
I was quite thrown out; and said, I did not believe there was such a
Flower.
“Oh yes, there is,” says he,—“Well but the rest of your Dream——”
“That’s all, Sir.”
“_All?_” cries he.
“Yes, Sir; only that we went on walking and walking, and the Garden was
so mighty pleasant.”
“Why, you told me there was Something wonderful in it!” says he.
I said it _had_ seemed wonderful at the Time——
“That there was _not_ a Kiss behind the Garden-gate,” says he, laughing.
“O fie, _Cherry_!”
I felt quite ashamed; and said it was very silly to tell Dreams, or to
believe in them.
“Why, yes,” said he seriously, “it _is_ foolish to believe in the
disjointed Images thrown together by a distempered Fancy; though
aforetime it oft pleased our HEAVENLY FATHER to communicate his Will to
his Servants through the Avenues of their sleeping Senses. How should
you and I be walking in a Garden together? There are no Gardens in
_Whitechapel, Cherry_. In _Berkshire_, indeed, my Brother the Squire has
a Garden something like what you describe, full of Roses, Pinks, and
Gilly-flowers, with great, flourished iron Gates, and broad, turfen
Walks, and Arbours, like green Wigs, and clipped Hedges full of Snails,
and Ponds full of Fish. If I go down there to get well, _Cherry_, as
peradventure I may, for I shall want setting up again before I’m fit for
Work—(I’ve fallen away till I’m as thin as _Don Quixote_!) I’ll ask his
Wife to invite you down, _Cherry_, to see the Garden; and then we’ll
look up all those Flowers we were talking about.”
“Thank you kindly, Sir,” said I, sorrowfully, “but I don’t think I can
go.... I must be looking for my Father.”
“Your Father!” cries he, in Amaze. “Why, dear _Cherry_, I thought you
told me he was dead!”
I tried to answer him, but could not, and fell a-sobbing.
“Come,” says he, quite moved, “I want to hear all this sad Story.”
When I was composed enough to tell it him, he listened with deep
Attention, and I saw a Tear steal down his Cheek.
“_Cherry_,” says he at length, “you must give over hoping he will
return, my Dear. There is not a Likelihood of it. Consider how long a
Time has elapsed since he went forth; and how many, as dear to their
Families as your Father to you, have been cut off in the Streets at a
Moment’s Notice, and carried off to the Dead-pits before they were
recognised. For such awful Casualties the Good are not unprepared.
Instead of carrying back Infection and Desolation to his Home, and
lingering for Hours and Days in unspeakable Agonies, the good Man was
doubtless carried at once to the Bosom of his GOD.”
Then he spake Words that killed Hope, and yet brought Healing; and after
weeping long and plentifully, I began to see Things as he did, and to
feel convinced I should see my Father’s Face no more: which, indeed, I
never did.
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